A Sacrifice Worth Living For
by Ezra Cross
Summary: Hawkeye has Cancer. He's going blind. Set years into the Avengers' future, the team, including their new members, are faced with Clint's own humanity. What lengths will they go to restore his eyesight? And why is Barton refusing all of their help? Something dark is hanging over their future and it takes the entry of an ancient race to bring them a choice. Live or Die? Summ. inside!
1. Chapter 1 -Kate-

After Not-So-Long of a hiatus, I'm back with a bang!

**Synopsis:**_ After a life devoted to the Avengers, Clint is dealing with the realities of getting older. With a girl pestering him to be trained, and the threat of losing his eyesight, how can the once great hero continue to survive? So much has threatened his life already. From the Infinity War, to the Mutant Registration Round Up, and even buying and running his own target range, Barton has lived a life fraught in adventure. Though this story may only glaze over those intimate details of his past life, rest assured, what is to come will leave you begging for more. How can Clint survive as a blind Avenger? Will Captian America even allow it? And how will the rest of the team react to his own humanity glaring them in the eyes? Stay tuned for this wild ride and the amazing "Fight Night"!_

**Characters:** _GET READY FOR A MASH UP! Avengers: Hawkeye, Hank Pym, Spider-Man, Tony Stark, T'Challa, Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, Black Widow, and even Vision! X-Men: Logan, Gambit, Cyclops, Storm, Prof X, Jubilee, and more! Fantastic 4: Invisible Woman, Human Torch, and Thing! Guardians of the Galaxy: Star-Lord, Drax, Gamora, Groot, and Rocket! But that's not all! Appearances will be made by various OCs from my universe (Light Elves Linnor, Rinnon, Doodle, Haladarral, Asgardians: Odin, The Warriors 3 and Sif, and even more!)_

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><p><span><strong>A Sacrifice Worth Living For<strong>

_Chapter 1 –Kate-_

_(This mirrors the Epilogue in another story, though there is more added here, please enjoy)_

She leaned on the wall outside of his house, tapping her foot as if somehow it would inspire the old man to go faster. She knew better. Nothing could get that guy moving more than a snail's pace, even if she lit a fire under him. Even if Tony freaking Stark came down from his ivory Avengers' mansion and planted himself on his doorstep, Clint Barton wouldn't go any faster. Especially since he knew she was in a hurry, it was like license to be a slug.

"UGH! Would you hurry the Hell up already! By the time we get there, the place is going to be closed!" She shouted into the kitchen window.

Clint appeared at the front door and crossed his arms over his chest. "Ya kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"No, my mother is dead."

"Your father is dead, your mother loves you very much, and I doubt she wants you hanging out with me." Clint grabbed something behind the door, and slung his jacket over one shoulder. "Lock up." He said, not bothering to pull the front door shut behind himself.

"Isn't the Widow home?"

"If Nat was, she'd probably be talking me out of this. She's down at Cap's apartment in D.C. They're working an undercover case that I didn't just tell you about. She'll be home next week. So, in the meantime, close the door."

She groaned, but climbed his porch to yank it closed. She tried the lock once or twice to be sure it caught, then tumbled down the stairs after him. She was disappointed when he bypassed her brand new, luxury class, VW Beetle for his, less-than-enthusiastic looking, '89 Chevy truck. Two of the four hubcaps had gone missing on the NJ turnpike three years ago and he had yet to replace them, even though she bought him some for Christmas the same year. He had three tickets for the missing headlamp he refused to replace, and there was hardly a time he pulled out of the driveway in the clunker without breaking down.

"Can't we take my car?" She asked, sending a desperate look toward her beauty. She even displayed its readiness by remote-starting the engine. Clint took one look, lifted a wrinkling eyebrow, and climbed into the driver's seat of the Chevy. She groaned again, reluctantly following along. Her duffle bag of gear transferred from the trunk of the Beetle to the bed of his pick up and, with her fighting against the sticky passenger seatbelt, Clint pulled out of his driveway. They were on the road in only a few minutes.

"You bother me every Saturday. Then you started showing up on Tuesdays. If you don't have a calendar, let me inform you, today is Friday." Clint said. He tried to sound like the strict mentor, but it failed miserably on the girl.

"Are you going to shoot your bow today?" She asked, giddily.

The Hawk's blue eyes had grown dark with age, changing from crystal to sapphire. He sent a glance over at her. "Maybe, if you behave. And stop tailing me on missions, it's getting to be weird. You aren't an Avenger. Not yet, anyway, and it's freaking Cap out."

"But I'm getting good. As good as you! I Robin Hood-ed four arrows the other day . . . after I tried to prove to you there was no such thing . . . I mean, they did a show on Mythbusters about it, how should I know they got it wrong? Oh, and I helped Spider-Man bring in the Chain Gang last week, so that should get me like, two . . . no, three brownie points. Don't-cha think?"

They pulled up to a stop light, and Clint turned in his seat to stare at her. It was hard to imagine the little girl she'd once been. The first time he'd seen her, she was so young and defenseless. Now, time and sheer dedication had transformed her into something her mother would always blame Clint for.

"You gotta stop calling yourself Hawkeye." He said, sternly. "People are going to get confused. And before you ask, Mockingbird isn't available either. You can be Hawkeye when I'm either dead or blind."

Her smile widened. "So when's your next deadly mission coming up?"

He groaned. The light changed, and the two continued on down the street. Their turn came up, and soon, they left the main thoroughfare for Clint's private club. They parked by the street and got out together. He pulled his bag off the seats, and waited for her to get her own duffle before heading to the back door. Without waiting for him, she took his keys, rushed to the door to unlock it, then fluttered inside. Clint shook his head and followed.

"Evenin', boss!" a man called from the back office. He stepped out, adjusting his navy blue polo in the waistband of his jeans. "Thought I saw you pack it in for the night?"

"Hey, Bill. I thought I did, but some irritating little college kid came and bothered me at home." He dropped his bag by the back door, and picked his quiver out of it, along with his collapsing ex-SHIELD bow.

"Doin' some shootin' again? That girl's momma's gonna whip her good when she finds out."

Clint smirked. "Yeah, well, that's not my area of expertise."

He headed off down the dark alley to the back rows of gun ranges and indoor archery targets. Every time he walked through his second job, it was like stepping back into a part of himself he left a long time ago and never thought he would get back. He made this place like a shelter to his memories. Everything good, existed at the shooting gallery; from the lines of medals he'd been given along the walls, to the news articles of his exploits, even the fragments of battles long ago fought. There were cross beams from the Chitauri attack on New York, dried flowers from Frigga's funeral on Asgard, Arrow's collar and leash, a spear from the trial of Alfheimr, a piece of Cap's shattered shield, the golden rooks from Blenheim, Rocket's favorite pistol, a sprouting twig from Groot, and so many other memories that people never had to pay to see. Clint Barton had long left his spy days and shadow times in the past. He was out, for good now, and this was the place people could come and see everything he had done.

He'd picked the location for a few reasons. It was halfway between Banner's apartment, by Princeton University, and Avengers Tower in New York. Clint's home, and his training center, became the hub of travel for everyone. On rare days, like today, he was alone at the house. Typically, Bruce, Steve, Tony, T'Challa, Vision, Luke, Logan, and so many other heroes passed in and out of his guest room. It was an open door policy. Bring your suitcase, and crash at Clint's house. Bring your training gear, and go to "Clint's Place". That's not how he liked to refer to his "Advanced Weapons Training Center" but every known hero disagreed with him.

The training center was popular, not only because an Avenger owned it and people from the world over traveled there to meet him, but because Clint wasn't the only hero around. One day, he'd be doing self-defense courses with Natasha, and the next, Tony would stop by for target practice and a beer. Even the Hulk would sometimes cut loose in the underground danger room with Thor, Vision, or even Tony and Steve. Occasionally, Luke Cage and the Wolverine would mix it up, which was always fun to see. Anyone who wanted to watch was welcome. Clint knew first hand, when he stopped being a spy and started being a hands-on hero, how big an impact it had for the world to meet his human side. This was the one place even the heroes could go and be normal for once, and the public was welcome to join and watch.

He walked by the old and new memories, disturbing the shop dog, who lifted his head from the pile of crash pads in the corner. As Clint suspected, the girl was out back, and already on her second quiver of arrows. She'd shot through two round targets at distances of one and two hundred meters. The two hundred still gave her trouble. It always did.

"You're leaning too far back. Sacrificing your sight line to reach the target. I keep telling you, you need a bigger draw strength. Especially if you are planning to go anywhere near the 2000 meter." He said, slinging his quiver over his back and snapping it into place.

She stuck her tongue out at him. Sure, she'd tried to hit his mile-plus-away target before. That was the third reason Clint even bought that property in the first place. It was just flat enough and long enough for him to taper the outdoor range in increments of 100 meters, all the way to 2000. A single arrow stuck dead center in the 2000 meter target, and hadn't been touched in four years. At first, she wholly believed Clint made the shot. But the longer she was around him, the more she figured he'd just gone up and stuck it in by hand to fool with her.

"You just say that. I looked up the world record. It's some Hungarian guy, and he did 800 meters. Besides, you can't even use the super hard bow anymore either. So there."

Clint cocked his head back. "Wow, was that a challenge from the apprentice?"

She held her bow up between them menacingly. "And how 'bout it? This is the hardest draw they make for recurves today, and I modified it myself. It goes 150lbs, and I can shoot it like fifty times in a row. What have you got that isn't some thirty-year-old SHIELD relic?"

Clint considered her proposal. Besides, it was healthy, these days, to cut kids off at their knees. They deserved it. It was his duty to prove that she still had plenty more to learn, even from an old Avenger like him. So he decided to do something he hadn't done in a very long time. Shaken from the depths of whatever realm it had been banished to, he summoned his Asgardian bow to his fingertips. The gold, black, and silver etchings blazed like a bolt of Thor's lightning. The string, made from Sleiphner's hair, never frayed, even in the years of disuse. It waited for him, always, knowing that one day it may be needed again.

He pulled a single arrow out of his quiver, didn't even bother to look at the tip, or its conformation. He never did. He always assumed that, if it made it to his quiver, it was the perfect arrow for absolutely every one of his needs, whether that was indoor, outdoor, needed a clockwise or counterclockwise spin . . . the girl didn't know how he did it, but somehow he always made what he used, work.

The arrow pressed against the ebony string until it locked into place. In one fluid motion, he lifted the bow, leveled the shot for the 2000 meter target, and let the arrow fly. He wasn't lined up in front of the target, but instead shot diagonally from the 500 line. The projectile cut a path between two targets, and headed straight for the 2000 meter mark. Clint didn't look to see whether it hit or not. A shot that far away would need a scope to tell for certain. A wave of his hand banished the bow back to whatever hidden realm it came from, and folded his arms.

"Lesson #198: don't tempt the master. Now, you can spend the next twenty minutes walking down to that target, just to tell me how great I _Robin Hood-ed_ that 2000 meter dead center from thirty degree angle difference. And on the way back, you can figure out how that is even possible. And then, you get to practice with my crappy thirty-year-old SHIELD relic."

She set her bow on its rest without voicing a reply. With steam erupting from her ears, the girl stalked off down the archery range to prove he was as full of it as he sounded. Bill walked up behind him, the shop mutt trotting along beside him. The dog waltzed over to Clint, and plopped down on the archer's left foot.

"Hell of a shot." Bill said. He eyed Clint. "Need some ice for that?"

Clint shook his head a little and rubbed his shoulder. "Nope."

"Awful hard on her. You tell her yet?"

Clint didn't reply.

Bill sighed and folded his arms. "Stark called. Said he picked up your bow on the scanners. Said you haven't used that thing in he didn't even know how long. Scared him when he saw it show up. Wanted to know if you were in trouble. I came runnin' out here like the dang Kree were fallin' from the skies again."

"No, I'm all right. Just trying to prove a point." Clint reached down and scratched Lucky's head. The one-eyed mix bathed his pant leg with his tongue.

"Thought you couldn't use that bow anymore?"

"I shouldn't, doesn't mean I can't." Clint replied. He turned, shoving Lucky off his foot as he and Bill headed back inside. It would be a while before the girl returned with his arrow.

"Think you missed?" Bill asked quietly.

"Nope." Clint said. "Not that time."

"They say how long you've got? Before the eyesight's all gone?"

Again, Clint shook his head. "Tony's not sure. Maybe a few months. Few weeks. Someone's gotta take over, keep the name alive. Kate . . . She's got something. Something that I have. I just gotta get her the rest of the way before..." Clint stopped by the back door and looked back at the field. He'd worked so hard to build this sanctuary. He knew every inch of it by heart. With or without his eyesight, he knew he could still get around it.

"Little Katie Bishop come a long way from where you found her. Deserves her shot at this."

"Yeah." Clint said, watching the hot-headed, stubborn, arrow-obsessed girl march her way down the 2000 meter line in a head-forward, shoulder taut, Army trudge, just so she could prove a point. He'd done that once with Trick Shot. Funny how things came full circle.

"She'd make a great Hawkeye one day. And Hawkeye deserves a legacy."

Bill smiled, but said nothing about Clint's assessment. He was fond of the girl too. She'd spent her entire childhood under the careful guidance of the best tutors money could buy, but all she ever wanted, was to be Merida from Brave, and to run off into the sunset as Hawkeye's protégé. After the training center went up, she became customer number one. Her mother, Martha, forbid it, but what could the woman do? Her daughter had been bitten by the hero bug. In the end, Martha knew her daughter was safe in Clint's hands. She had a soft spot for the hero. A lot of women did.

"I don't know how you do it." Bill said, shaking his head. "Always got some woman wrapped 'round your finger."

"It's the cupid in me. Women can't resist it."

They left the hall and entered Clint's office. He flicked the light on with one hand, and dropped his gear into the old leather chair behind the door. The room, with its high school lockers along one wall, file cabinets, and principal's desk looked remarkably similar to the false memory created by Barney Barton years ago. Tony and Pepper helped him design the place. None of the Avengers mentioned the likeness. Either they'd forgotten, or they knew better than to dredge up the painful circumstances surrounding that time. Mostly, the team wanted to help. After all, this place was built for all heroes. It was as much their home as it was his own.

"Fight's coming up Sunday. You still feeling up to it?" Bill asked. He sat to Clint's right, and propped his legs up on Hawkeye's desk.

"I think T'Challa's not about to let me back out of this thing, so I guess I'm ready. Panther's ready to take me out five ways to Sunday." Clint replied.

"Everyone's looking forward to the main event."

"Hulk vs. Thor in the Danger Room? Hell, I'm looking forward to watching those guys pummel the lights out of each other. It's so popular, Rocket, Groot, and Linnor will be around. Imagine what that crowd's going to look like."

"Then there's Johnny Storm and Cyclops. I think that will be a sight to see." Bill added. He sat back in his chair and leaned on the hind legs.

Fight Night had been a hit since the Juggernaut came to town and challenged the Blob to a round on the mats. A few heroes had been in attendance, and left their own training aside to watch the two square off in the ring. The result was an epic event that tested the very limits of Clint's personal Danger Room. Afterward, T'Challa and Tony built in a few improvements to the center ring so it might better withstand the heavy-hitting fighters. Two weeks later, Nightcrawler took on Vision, and ever since, the first Sunday of every month became Fight Night. Mostly, they sparred amongst themselves and lesser heroes branched out to the big leagues. There were no prizes or winners, and no outsiders. Nothing to lose, and everything to gain. A few times, like that coming weekend, a real heading would run. Hulk vs. Thor would be one of the greatest fights "Clint's Place" had ever seen. So far, only one had surpassed it, and that was the surprising bout of Rogue and Susan Storm.

A rap came on the doorway followed by a surprising entrance. Clint sat forward to see around his computer screen, but Bill jumped to his feet.

"Wolverine! How ya doin'? Haven't seen ya in f'ever!" Bill exclaimed. Whenever he got frazzled, his speech went the way of an Eastern European, New Jersey native with a splash of Alabama Clint could never determine the origin of (in essence, indiscriminate and hardly legible, with a little bit of his alien home of Blenheim thrown in). Clint had come across the man during his mission in Hungary years back. Once a Royal Guard of the tribal leader on Blenheim, he'd relocated to Earth for a change of scenery. As loyal as his brother-in-arms, Hogun, they'd been friends ever since.

Logan moved the butt of his cigar from his fingers to the corner of his mouth, and shook Bill's extended hand. "Hey, smiles. You still being slave-driven around here?"

Bill hiked a thumb at Clint. "Ask the boss for a raise for me. I got a wife and twelve kids."

"I don't think your cats count as kids." Logan replied, clapping him on the shoulder. He walked in a little farther and shook hands with Barton.

"Hey, Logan." Clint said. "Fancy seeing you around here. Didn't know you'd come back from Canada. Hiding from some Mounties?"

Logan smirked. "Still a smart mouth. Nah, passing through. Heading back to upstate New York. Stopped in for a bit. You got anybody staying at your house?"

Clint stood and headed to the key rack on his wall. Grabbing down one with a green _"Guest House"_ label along the end, he passed it over. "Vacant for now, it's all yours. Got a car, or do you need that too?"

Logan stuffed the key into his trouser pocket. "Got the truck."

"Ok, great. Natasha's out of town for a while, so it's just me there. Fridge is sparse, but should have something in the cabinets at the guest house. You know your way around. I haven't changed your security code, so just punch it in. I just stripped the place down last week after Gambit left."

"He was here? I miss him?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah, just a week or two ago. Heard there was snow coming in, so he cut out to catch a plane for Louisiana. He's in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. You probably could have guessed that though. Starts next Friday. He said something about pre-gaming before then."

"Surprised he left so late." Logan chuckled. He removed the stub of his cigar, considered its unlit end, and dropped it in Clint's waste bin. "Heard you refitted the ring?"

"T'Challa gave us some supplies to fix the place up. Lemme show you the new specs. Are you staying for a couple days? Fight Night's this Sunday, and Thor's going to headline against the Hulk. We're testing out Tony's latest containment mechanics." Clint rounded his desk, and led Logan toward the downstairs lair. Bill moved ahead of them, flipping on lights. For a Friday morning, the place was relatively empty. Already past eleven, most of the men and women prepping for Sunday planned to do their final workouts in private. If they had any tricks up their sleeves, they didn't want the spies to know.

Before they reached the basement, the back door flew open, and Katie Bishop came running down the hall. Her pony tail bounded in circles, her chest heaved, as she produced the result of Clint's perfect aim. She bent over at the waist to catch her breath, while one arm held up the stuck-together arrows.

"All right, Kate, next thing we work on is going to be sprinting. I don't care if it is fifteen degrees outside." Clint said, nonchalantly.

Her dagger eyes burned into him. "Seriously?! This isn't even possible! No one can have aim this good. It's got to be some carney trick! I don't know how you did it but – "

Logan picked up the arrows and considered them. The original carbon fiber body had split down its underside to make room for the second arrow, which burrowed right through it from knock to tip. They were stuck together tight enough to prevent them being pulled apart without a set of pliers or a dremel.

Kate straightened, holding the stitch in her side as she tried still to catch her breath. "Hi, Wolverine."

"Hi, kid." He replied, handing the arrows to Clint. "Isn't that the one I saw you shoot in that far target? The one in the field?"

"One of them. The other one, I just shot now." Clint said. He leaned over and opened the old supply closet closest to them. He haphazardly tossed the arrows on a shelf, and closed the door again.

Kate pointed at the door. "How have I never been in that door before?"

"You've got me. I think you spend more time here than I do." Clint replied.

Squinting at him, as if waiting to see the magician reveal the rabbit from his hat, she grabbed the door knob and forced it inward. Her jaw hit her chest. The room was full, from one end to the other, of no less than a thousand Robin Hood-ed arrow shafts. It was possible that not all of them came from the same mile-away target shot, but there they all sat. Discarded, as if they meant nothing. She slowly turned to her mentor.

Clint sighed. "Look. You get aim as good as mine, and you start to lose a few thousand arrows here and there. Especially when target shooting. The reason I have so many targets is so I can shoot one arrow at each of them. Otherwise, they will always hit each other. Always. It's cool for like, maybe the first twenty times, then it starts to get tedious replacing so many arrows. One Robin Hood shot ruins two arrows. If you start off with a quiver of twenty, then how many shots can you make before you are out of arrows?"

Katie shook her head, trying to figure out how, suddenly, her uncovering the hoard of arrows turned into a math problem.

"Ten shots." Clint answered his own question. He reached forward and pulled the door shut again. "You get ten shots, and then you have to buy an entirely new stock. Your job is to start needing just as many targets as I do, so you can keep as many arrows in play as possible. Understand?"

Her jaw slowly closed, and she nodded, still mesmerized.

"Good. March back outside and take my _crappy_ ex-SHIELD bow with you. Start at the 100 meter. When you can Robin Hood every shot, then we will start moving up. Before that . . . how old are you again?"

She told him.

"Fine, do that many laps around the whole building. Bill will go with you to make sure you do it. Then, and only then, will I come back out there and show you a new move."

Her face, progressing from doubts at her own ability to complete his challenge, to anger at having to run, and disbelief that Bill would be babysitting her, crumbled into the overwhelming glee of potentially learning something new. "The backward thumb draw? I wanna learn the backward thumb draw!"

"Ok, whatever. Run." Clint swept his hand toward the door, and Katie galloped off with Bill dogging at her heels. Clint rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Logan. "See the things I gotta deal with?"

Logan held up a hand. "Hey, I got stuck with Rogue hijacking my truck. You got the old First Lady's little hero-bunny."

Clint started down the stairs for the basement. "I still think you got the better deal."

"Tell me that when Rogue grabs your face one day with her bare hand." Logan shot back.

The basement Danger Room was modeled after the specifications from the X-men mansion, with inspiration drawn from every MMA ring, both real and imagined. In the end, an invisible field, reinforced with adamantium and vibranium infused struts, shot up from the elevated adamantium platform and progressively curved inward. The total width was the size of two basketball courts. The height rivaled two stories, necessitating four platforms of stairs to reach the underground fortress. So strong was the ring, that occasionally, their super-powered rivals found themselves trapped inside like a hold-over station before being shipped to prison. The inner adamantium and vibranium struts were lined in mattress-thick padding designed on Alfheimr as a favor to Clint. While it did nothing to stop the size of the Hulk, it was a softer cushion to hit for the less dead-proof fighters. Surrounding the ring were alternating benches, individual chairs, lockers, a few water stations, and an off-shoot to the showers.

Logan raised an eyebrow, setting the old army duffle he carried onto the closest bench. "Didn't spare much, did you?"

Clint didn't reply.

He approached the outer struts. Withdrawing his middle right claw, he tapped the metal. A familiar repelling energy vibrated through his hand. _Vibranium_, he considered. Explained why Black Panther was involved in the creation process. He then touched the invisible barrier. It was thick, maybe enough to withstand Thor's hammer.

"Stark pull out his card for this one? Or did you tap into that secret account we all know you have?" Logan asked. He retracted the claw, and stepped back a little to look at the entire arena. It was a lot more inviting than the Danger Room at Xavier's Institute. He knew Clint worked hard to make his life comfortable, for not only himself, but those who sought out Avengers as a refuge. Logan often allied himself to like-minded hard cases. Clint fit that bill, and then some.

So when Clint still didn't answer him, he looked over and said, "Hey, what's got you in the clouds, bub?"

Inexplicably, Clint dropped. His legs collapsed from under him, and his entire body hit the cement floor in a heap. Logan was so stunned at seeing it, he didn't move at first. When it became obvious Clint wasn't getting up again, he rushed over and turned the archer onto his back.

"Hawk? Hey, Hawk! What happened?"

He carefully straightened the archer's body out. Clint's head bled from where he'd smacked it off the floor. Logan rocked his knuckles along Clint's collar bone to rouse him, but at the same time looked around to see what could have taken him down. No one with half a brain cell would think of attacking an Avenger at Clint's Place. Especially not in the bunker.

"Hawk!"Logan scrutinized every corner of the Danger Room. To the empty area he demanded, "Who's out there?!"

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><p><em>So if you haven't figured it out yet, I'll be referencing a lot of Avengers history that may or may not have been written. These little plot bunnies are meant to tantalize your mind and...perchance?...even stir up your own little plot bunnies. Run wild little bunnies! If you would like to read my history of Clint Barton, just cruise over to my Author Page and check it out:)<em>

**_Next Time: Meningioma _**

PLEASE REVIEW! Have a question? I love to answer them, so PM away:)


	2. Chapter 2 -Meningioma-

A/N: Thank you for the FANTASTIC reviews! They were much appreciated!

Shout Outs: To my beloved editors, Icanhearthedrums and JRBarton without whom my work would be in sad, grammatical disarray. Merry Christmas:)

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><p>Chapter 2 –Meningioma-<p>

With no evil producing itself from the dark corners of the room, Logan returned his attention to the unconscious Avenger. He had to get some help, immediately. Bill wouldn't hear him this far down unless he found a phone. After patting a few pockets in his plaid shirt, Logan figured his own cell phone was in the side pocket of his bag. He checked for Clint's, and fished it out of his pants pocket. Beneath him, Clint moaned and tried to roll. Logan set the phone aside to grab his shoulders.

"Whoa, now, hang on. You just fell on your face."

Clint blinked at him. "Logan?"

"Yeah, it's me. What you do? Forget to eat a Twinkie or something?"

Clint pushed Logan away and sat up. He tapped a hand to the side of his head, and felt the stick of blood there. "Crap."

"Told you about that crack you took. Care to enlighten me about what that all was?"

The archer looked around. "Bill down here?"

"No."

"Help me up."

"You going to fall over again?"

"No."

Logan moved back and helped Clint to his feet. The archer swayed, despite Wolverine's hand keeping him upright. After giving him time to gather his wits, Logan directed them both to the closest bench. Clint didn't lean too heavily on him, but it was obvious whatever happened to him left the archer stunned. He reached his hand out to feel along the wall, and sat down beside Logan's duffle bag. The X-Man left him for a minute to grab one of the cleaning towels. He soaked it under the water fountain and returned with the cloth. Clint heard him coming, and held out a hand for it.

"I need something in my office." Clint said.

"You going to walk yourself up there?" Logan asked incredulously.

Clint began to shake his head, but stopped very quickly. His eyelids fell, and he held the towel to the cut on his head. "I need you to get it. Don't bother Bill, he'll keep Katie distracted. Top drawer, left side. Three bottles. I need all three."

"You going to be ok for the minute it takes me to get those?"

"I should be fine. Just don't stop for tea." Clint leaned back, holding the front of his head in one hand as if the knock had walloped a headache through him. Logan didn't doubt that he'd feel something after dropping onto his face. After standing there a moment longer to be sure Clint wasn't going to pitch forward onto his face again, Logan retreated for the stairs.

Nothing seemed different in Clint at first. Logan hadn't seen the guy in a few months, but the archer had gotten a bit of press after the last attack by a new HYDRA faction a week before. Logan remembered laughing at the television. Clint went in doing his whole rescue routine with the Hulk and Iron Man beside him. Clint didn't typically make a spectacle of himself but there were some days he just couldn't help it. Logan remembered seeing Clint walk away. No one was staying at his place, meant they didn't have him under concussion watch. Even Bill seemed unconcerned. Katie certainly had no idea something was up. For a straight up human, Clint had taken his fair share of knocks in the past. It was possible something knocked him down and he had yet to fully recover from it.

The Wolverine headed into Clint's office and fished around in the desk for the bottles of pills. While his fingers searched, he glanced over one shoulder to watch Katie take another jog around the building. Bill ran right behind her. The guy could run from Africa to the Arctic Circle and never tire. He might masquerade as a man, but the fact that he was an alien occasionally came out. Feeling the pill vials, Logan wrapped his fingers around them and brought them up into the light. He wasn't the most talented when it came to knowing the names of medications and their uses. What he could comprehend was the name of the doctor on the prescription label. Neurologist, popular in New York, and the only reason Logan knew it was because Jean often referred to his work. Pocketing the medication, he returned to the Danger Room.

Clint had either moved on his own, or fallen right over. When Logan returned, he found the archer lying on his back beside the bench with the damp towel rolled up under his head. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he appeared content . . . or dead.

"Hey, tail feather, you dead down there?" Logan questioned, kneeling beside him.

In response, Clint held out his hand, palm up. "One of each." He said.

Figuring Clint meant the medication, Logan worked the lids off and extracted one of each pill type. Before he could ask if Clint wanted something to wash them down, the archer already tossed them into the back of his mouth and swallowed. He never sat up.

"How did that taste?" Wolverine asked.

"Like chalk and pennies." Clint retorted. "And before you ask, I got down here on my own. It's supposed to take the pressure off or something. I don't know. I just do what they tell me."

"You take a hammer to your forehead or something during the last job?" Logan asked. He wasn't exactly curious, he just wanted to know why his friend, who had randomly passed out and had three bottles full of medication prescribed by a neurologist, was living alone in his house. Clint's eyes opened briefly. They tracked toward Logan's face, but diverted by about a foot. Figuring Bill had come up behind him, Wolverine glanced over his shoulder. No one was there.

"Who you lookin' at? The Invisible Woman?" he joked. Clint's eyes shifted a little, but still missed locking with Logan's. Concerned, but not really believing his suspicions, the X-Man reached his hand forward and slowly moved it over Clint's face.

The archer didn't move.

"I can feel your hand there, Logan. And don't ask me how many fingers you're holding up, 'cause I won't be able to answer that one either. Right now I can't exactly see anything. Give me a couple minutes though and it'll come back." Clint's voice was steady and calm. Too calm, for a guy who made his living off of his impeccable eyesight and was now lying with his back on a gym floor totally blind.

"You're pulling my leg."

"Laying down helps," Clint said. "Supposed to take the pressure off or something. Brings it back faster. The pills knock me out. I'm going to have to go back to my place. Katie's going to be upset, but she can deal. Don't let her come down here."

The reality of what Clint trusted him with slowly filtered into Logan. At first he might have thought this was an elaborate prank, of which Clint had been known to pull. The last time they met, Wolverine was convinced Natasha had been killed in a running of the bulls in Spain. Clint even had pictures to prove it. Then, of course, Natasha walked into the office, and the jig was up. Before that, Clint faked his own death. Bill helped with that one. And for ten minutes, Logan felt like an idiot, offering his condolences to Natasha. Clint was an excellent spy, and nearly as masterful as his girl at spinning tall tales. This time, though, Logan had the distinct impression Clint told the truth. Wolverine lowered down until he sat by Clint's left side. He didn't know what the drugs were, or how fast it would take them to kick in. The archer breathed steadily, both arms draped across his face

"So – "

"Posterior Fossa Meningioma Grade 2 wrapped around my occipital nerve. Inoperable, and slow growing. It's not going to kill me, but it occasionally presses on stuff it shouldn't. I'm on anti-seizure meds, some type of crap to lower the pressure in my skull, and like three other things I don't remember. One day, I'm going to go blind, and I'm not going to get my sight back. No one can tell me when that's going to happen."

Logan nodded very little, and tried to absorb what Clint trusted him with. He couldn't help leaning forward and again waving his hand, more slowly, in front of Clint's face. Sure enough, the archer had no reaction. The weight of it all suddenly hit like the crash of a wave.

"Clint…" Logan whispered.

"I'm sorry, you weren't supposed to know." Clint said by way of explanation.

"Not supposed to know?! You just told me you have a tumor in your brain, and you weren't going to tell anyone about it? That you are going to end up just as blind as you are deaf, and you plan to just keep that to yourself? When were you going to tell someone, bub?!" Logan nearly shouted. He didn't have many people he referred to as friends, but over the years, Clint came about as close as most of the people in Logan's life that he liked. He couldn't help being slighted at Clint's plan to keep him in the dark. What was he waiting for? The perfect time to break the I-have-an-inoperable-brain-tumor news?

Clint moved one arm away as his sapphire eye attempted to track over Logan's face. "It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that!"

"Stop being such a girl about this. I'm the one with the brain tumor. _I_ should be the one upset!"

"Yeah, I agree. And why aren't you? How many times has this – " Logan indicated the archer's body stretched out across the floor lined in prescription bottles, forgetting Clint had no idea what motion he was making. " – all happened to you? Enough for it to be common place?"

"No. Only, like, three times. And I never fell before. Usually, I get a headache first and I feel it coming. So this is as much of a surprise to you as it is to me. And stop giving me that look!"

"What look?!"

"That pity look! That I'm-mad-you-didn't-tell-me look! I haven't had an episode in four weeks, OK, so how was I supposed to know this was going to happen right now?"

"You're blind, you don't even know what look I'm giving you." Logan retorted, but didn't have much emphasis in his words.

Clint laughed, then stopped, then laughed again and stopped. "Come on, I'm working to decrease some brain pressure here. Stop crackin' jokes."

"When did you find out about this?" Logan changed the joviality with the seriousness of his tone.

"Two months back. Got dizzy, couldn't figure out why. Tasha made me get checked out. Tony was around, and I hit up his JARVIS brain system to take a look. He ran the system so Stark saw it first. Natasha wasn't far away, so she saw it too. We didn't know what we were dealing with, so I agreed to let some real docs in."

Wolverine picked up the closest pill vial and turned the name over in his hand. Neurologist. New York. Stark probably knew him. Clint went on and explained how, after the three realized the extent of the tumor growing in Clint's brain, they made a consultation with the foremost brain expert in the country. Clint had already undergone brain surgery once, years back, and wasn't keen to go under the knife again. But he did agree to a biopsy, at the least. After three scans over a few weeks, and receiving the results back, he was diagnosed with the insidious meningioma. Most likely, as far as the neurologist knew, he wasn't going to die from it. The location made it difficult, if not impossible, to operate on. As to where the thing originated from to begin with, Clint's private profession may have been a contributing factor.

Radiation.

As a human, he'd been to more interstellar places than Thor, encountered his fair share of nuclear weapons, and then there was the Hulk Gamma Wave of 2020 Hawkeye was pivotal in preventing. Each time he diffused a nuclear warhead, he fed the cells secretly encapsulating the optic nerve in his skull. Eventually, it pressed in just the right spot to make itself known.

Clint hadn't suffered any seizures, but it was a possibility. That was the first medication he was prescribed. Next, they had to slow the tumor's growth. Very few drugs known to mankind worked on Clint's tumor type. He was on two clinical trial medications currently. One of the side effects included a sudden loss of consciousness from a rapid drop in blood pressure, which he had yet to experience until just then.

Tony went into creation mode. While he fabricated something that may halt the progression of Clint's disease, Clint and Natasha did the only thing that they could think of. First, they traveled to Asgard together and consulted with the healers there. Finding no cure, they instead traveled to Alfheimr. Again, Clint returned in no better health. He'd had time to think among those alien friends he always entertained, and in the time away, he came to terms with the reality of his diagnosis. Of course, Clint hardly used that depth of words when he said it to Logan, but his long-time friend understood regardless. In essence, Clint had done everything a human could do to prevent the inevitable, and, finding no relief, he accepted it.

Clint slowly sat up. Logan slipped a hand behind him to prevent his falling back.

"Hey, should you be getting up?" Logan asked, concernedly.

"Headache's going away. I'm all right. Look, we've got to get me out of here before Kate gets onto me about shooting."

"She doesn't know yet?"

Clint shook his head and stood with Logan's help. He motioned off in the direction where he remembered the bench being. "Grab your stuff, we'll head back to my place. Bill can babysit. Until this sight thing is irreversible, I don't want to tell her. Just wait a bit, and it'll come back like it always does. The meds just have to kick in. Once they do, though, I'm going to be too tired to even walk."

Logan left him for a moment to grab his gear and hauled it over his shoulder. Clint took part of the bag's strap in his hand to act as a guide. With Logan in the lead, they slowly made their way toward the stairs.

"You going to make it up all these?"

"Yeah, I'm feeling less nauseous already. Hey, did you grab my meds?"

Logan patted a pocket of his bag, and the sound of pills hitting against one another was audible. Clint acknowledged the sound, and they started up the platforms of stairs. Logan asked about the knock on Clint's head, but apparently it was superficial, hardly more than a small cut. Logan took the bloody towel from Clint's hand, and dropped it in the clothes bin on their way up. They might as well hide the evidence from Kate.

"Hey, boss!" Bill called. Entering through the front door, he caught sight of the two friends heading for the side exit.

Clint looked over and smiled. "Hey, Bill. Kate with you?"

"Nope, she's out there blasting arrows at the hundred meter like she's actually gonna Robin Hood all those things. Everything all right in here?" He drew a little closer, and noticed Clint's hand on the strap of Logan's bag. With a worried expression, he looked at the X-Man. "Is it gone again?"

"For now." Clint answered. "Look, cover with Kate for me. Logan's driving me back to my place. I'll leave my truck here so she can switch it with hers. Tell her . . . I don't know . . . tell her I knew she wouldn't perfect it tonight and I headed home. Or I got a call from Natasha or something. Use whatever."

Clint was spared the look of abject apprehension on Bill's face as he agreed to the terms. He took a few steps closer, reaching out one hand as if it may do something or suddenly divine the ability to cure a mortal body, but in the same instance he retracted it again. His misery directed to Logan. If Bill had any talents awarded to him, besides being able to survive an interstellar apocalypse and cook the best batch of pumpkin spice muffins this side of the cosmos, his best asset had to be the smoldering face. The loss of hope in him was so encompassing, Logan felt as if a stone rolled right into his heart and crushed his very soul. The X-Man had to look away, or else be drawn into those pitiful depths. It was fortunate for everyone Clint was blind, or else he may have lost his mind.

"We're leaving now." Logan said, directing Clint for the door as they headed out into the parking lot.

* * *

><p>:(:):(:):<p>

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><p>Logan stared into the black, grey, and white images he held over the uncovered living room light fixture. Blobs and masses that floated into a vaguely humanoid form were transected in individual slices, producing a series of images across the massive sheet. It was the printout of Clint's third MRI. It didn't look very different from the first two. The size of the obvious foreign object invading the base of his frontal lobe hardly changed. But what little movement the tumor had done, cost the archer dearly.<p>

"So you're saying he's right? Is this thing going to kill him?" Logan asked the person on the other side of his cell phone line.

"_I'm sorry, Logan, but it appears that whoever has assessed these scans was correct. While it may seem like the change is minimal, the damage caused by the displacement of normal tissue is quite extensive. As to his imminent death, I would disagree. Damaged, yes, but it may take a long time before this particular mass would result in death. Are you sure you don't want to share the name of this patient?"_

"Not my secret to share, Professor." Logan replied. He slipped the film back into its manila envelope and set it aside in Clint's box of medical notes. There were printed articles, digital reconstructions, even a 3D printed rendering of the tumor in his brain. A fat lot of good the thing did when Clint still faced losing his sight forever.

Xavier breathed a careful sigh into the other line. "_Well, while I wish you would trust me with such things, that is your prerogative and not mine. Are we still expecting you soon?"_

"Yeah, I'm just sticking around here for – " Logan paused. Sure, Xavier could just read his mind, but the guy tended to give him his privacy too. If Logan mentioned Fight Night, then it wouldn't take a telepath to figure out the patient was Clint Barton. Who else would Logan stay with in New Jersey?

"I'll be up by Tuesday. Let Rogue know." Logan hit the "end" button on his phone with little more ado.

"Baldy not have much insight?"

Logan jumped, curled his hand into a fist and turned all at once to face Clint. The old spy could still move like a ninja when he wanted to.

After making it back to Barton's house, the archer had slowly made his way to bed and promptly dropped on the top covers without bothering to take off so much as his shoes. He said the meds liked to knock him out, but Logan underestimated just how well they could. Within a few seconds of hitting his mattress, Clint rolled into a ball, dragged his pillow against his face and disappeared. Logan lowered some of his insensitivity for a moment to pull off Clint's old sneakers and throw a blanket over him. To save Clint a little self-respect, he had left after that.

"I keep telling ya, one day you are going to scare me and get a few piercings through your chest you can hang more than just earrings in!" Logan complained.

Clint grinned. He'd changed his clothes and walked into the living room with a new shirt in his hand. The freshest scars, the ones known to every mutant across the globe were clearly evident. They criss-crossed Clint's back like slashes from Wolverine's claws. A picture taken of him when those wounds were fresh and raw became the image of a revolution. The non-mutant had been tortured at the hands of the Registration Act Committee to give up those men and women he shuffled in and out of Clint's Place. When the public at large saw what the government did to a normal man, and an Avenger at that, all in the name of the Registration Act, change finally blew in. Following months of campaigning after the image's release, the Act was repealed at last.

Noticing that the scars made Logan uncomfortable, Clint finished pulling on his shirt. He grabbed the box of medical information Logan had helped himself to

"You can, what, see again?" Logan asked. The way Clint carried his box, replaced the lid he discovered on the coffee table, and slid it up onto a shelf beside a second, untouched, box so they might be out of sight, the assumption appeared valid.

"Yeah." Barton replied. He turned around, locking eyes with Wolverine. "I told you. It comes and goes. But so far, it's always come back. One day it won't. I don't know when that will be, no one does, but it's back now."

"You're still Avenging like this?" Logan seemed incredulous, but he knew for a fact Clint had been on a mission only the week prior. Probably even more recent than that, if it didn't make headlines.

Clint shrugged. He headed into the kitchen with Logan trailing after him. He aimed to set up some coffee. The hour-long trip to Never Land left him groggy and disorganized. Caffeine provided the sure-fire cure for that.

"I'm not an invalid, Logan. And technically speaking, I'm not even terminal. I'm . . . complicated."

"You'll be a vegetable if you drop off a skyscraper one day and land on your brain tumor." Logan pointed out. He knew where the cups were, and most of the things Clint used for coffee. So while the archer worked to get the water boiling, Logan collected the other necessities.

"This was the first time I ever lost consciousness. And I just called Tony over. He's coming by in ten minutes. If you don't want to deal with him, I suggest hiding over at the guest house now." Clint accepted the two coffee cartridges from Logan and fed them one at a time into his Keurig. Pepper had gotten it for him a few Christmas's back. His life hadn't been the same since.

"Is he going to act like an idiot?" Logan asked.

Clint smirked. "What do you think?"

Logan took the first coffee the machine produced and tipped his mug at Clint. "I'll be outside. Call me if you randomly hit the ground again. Oh, and Mini-Hawk came by and grabbed her car. I think she slashed one of your tires."

"No, it was flat before she took it." Clint clarified.

Logan smiled, shaking his head, and headed out for the guest house in the back yard. It wasn't much. More like a mother-in-law suite with a small kitchen, toaster oven, mini fridge, and the bare essentials to make life comfortable on the road. Honestly speaking, the best thing about it was the bed. Designed in the same cottontail moss as the cushioned pads in the Danger Room, and found only on Alfheimr, it was a bed Logan literally drove an extra thousand miles out of his way to sleep in. He'd never met any of the Elf-men in person, but if they were anything like Billetekeli "Bill" Frostketen, he might just decide to like them.

Clint didn't expect Logan to stick around by any stretch of his imagination. Though Logan and Tony weren't rivals, enemies, or frenemies, they had a sort of dueling wit that would prevent any normal work from ever seeing itself to completion. Both of the men liked to push buttons, and, more to the point, they knew exactly how to push each other's buttons. That, in itself, brewed a recipe for disaster at every turn.

"It's me, so don't shoot!" Tony called as he walked inside. Tony, for his part, didn't even bother to knock anymore before he let himself into Clint's house.

"Kitchen!" Clint called back.

There was a great sound of crashing metal, gears twirling, and then the _thwap_ of something heavy landing on the carpet before Tony at last made his disheveled appearance in the doorway. Clint glanced at him from above the rim of his coffee cup.

Tony hadn't changed much over the years. He and Pepper had been engaged since the day Clint forced them to propose, and a marriage was not soon in sight. Neither seemed disturbed by those prospects. That was simply the way of Stark's life. Clint had been Tony's eyes on more missions than either could count. They shared secrets, fears, psychological trauma, and together added numerous scars to their ongoing collection. The most prominent was the wrap of Ruun-Na's noose around Tony's neck. The scars never fully healed, not the way the Avengers thought they might. It had been years since the near-murder attempt, and, still, from front to back along Stark's jaw line, the near-hanging was unmistakable.

"Was that you falling over my sofa for a second time, or you bringing me a metal box of toys?" he asked, blowing the steam down on his drink.

"Both. It's not my fault i can't feel your sofa with my left leg." Tony proclaimed. He'd lost all feeling in the left side of his body from the fractured neck vertebrae. Banner had restored the feeling in his hand, only, at the sacrifice of everything else.

Stark approached and looked forlornly at the Keurig. "None for me?"

"Logan took yours."

"Badger-boy's here?" Tony asked, surprised. He reached into Clint's cabinet and extracted his own coffee concoction. Every big-name hero, and even a few lesser ones, knew the entire layout of Clint's house, right down to which drawer he kept his spare fletches in. That didn't mean Clint still didn't have his secret stash-holes, but he was considerably more open with his home life. Anything not bolted to the floor was free game.

After the Mutant registration act went into effect, many close friends found themselves on the run. Clint's house became part underground-railroad among its many other uses. After the Act's repeal a few years prior, many of the more untrusting of the mutant brothers still kept to their underground ways. Clint's door remained open to them all.

"Came in a couple hours ago. Drove me home after I couldn't. Missed Kate too, she just took off."

Tony's disheartened look deepened. He'd never admit it openly, but he was getting fond of the mini-hawkgirl. He knew Clint struggled with the right time to tell her the bad news.

"Bill at Clint's Place?" Tony asked. He fished his cup from beneath the finished coffee stream and dropped some sugar and milk into it.

"The Training Center, yes." Clint corrected.

"Oh, come on. Everyone I know, and everyone you know, just calls it Clint's Place. I really think you should change the name."

"The first time I suggested a name, you insisted on calling it the Iron Hawk Emporium." Clint pointed out.

Tony smiled against his coffee cup. "That name had gold written all over it. Fan-fiction girls would swoon."

Clint snickered, shaking his head. "Toys? You said you brought something over?"

"Mmhmm." Tony pulled his cup away and led Clint back into the living room. He dropped the mug on the fireplace mantel before indicating the box beside his empty Iron Man suite.

"I've been tinkering." Tony said.

"Big surprise." Clint replied.

"I opened up a new project heading under the Daredevil work book, and started using some frequencies from the new auricular device we installed in your head and transferred the signals to this." Tony grabbed something out of his box and held up a pair of very similar looking sunglasses.

"Hey! I've been looking for those!" Clint exclaimed. He held them up and noticed at once Tony lined his inner lens in the clear film digital display he used for the inside of his Iron Man helmet.

"I lined it with the same JARVIS interface I created for off-world travel. It works on an independent server and it's adaptable. My plan is – "

"To have it feed information into my auricular implant like a digital seeing eye dog?" Clint put the glasses on. The world lit up instantly in hues of high intensity color and heat imaging. He lifted them to see the normal world again, then dropped for the high intensity images. "Fantastic."

Tony's giddiness couldn't be hidden. "Close your eyes and ask him something."

Clint did so. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few spare dollars. "JARVIS, what am I holding?"

_"In your left hand are three single, USA dollar bills, and in the right are two ten dollar bills."_

Clint opened his eyes and smiled. "Nice."

"You heard him?"

"Loud and clear. Why? Is it not generally audible?" Clint pushed the sunglasses to the top of his head.

"No. It feeds directly into the aural implant. I'm not done tinkering yet, so give me another week or two. It's in case you need to . . . well, in case." Tony wanted to say on a mission, but he wasn't sure whether or not it was appropriate. Steve made the decisions as to who could be on the team. As of right now, the Captain had no clue that Clint had a severe illness.

Clint could tell what Tony wanted desperately to say. For years, he'd dealt with being one of the only supermen on the planet who overcame being deaf and continued to do his job. The only other hero somewhat in the same league of physical impairment as himself was Daredevil. However, the weight of the matter came down to the fact that Clint only lost one major physical sense. He still relied on the others. Facing the loss of his second major sense carried the potential of ending his career as an Avenger forever.

"Your tire's flat." Tony pointed out to smooth over the awkward silence.

"Yeah, haven't really fixed that yet. I'm having a little trouble leaning over and staying that way, so I've avoided it. I thought about asking Bill when I drove in, but completely forgot about it after Logan drove me home."

Tony pushed off from the couch where he leaned, and pulled open the front door. If Clint couldn't change his own tire, then Tony would do it for him. Barton trotted along after. Years ago, he stopped trying to hide his troubles from his friend. Their closeness over made it impossible to hide what Clint really struggled with. They could sit and fight about what Clint wanted to hide, and in the end the truth would always come out. Clint decided it wasn't worth the headache of the back and forth anymore, and resorted to admitting whatever Tony wanted.

"Is it just the pressure from leaning down that makes it difficult?" Tony asked as they headed for the truck.

"Mostly. I feel it right behind my eyes, and everything starts pulsing. Then I get dizzy and have to quit. I've been on the meds, what, a month now?"

"What's today?"

"The third."

"One and a half if you aren't counting the time off world. Has it gotten better? The pressure changes and headaches?"

"It has, actually. I can lean over for longer. I missed my morning dose, I realized it after I got back, and I think that's why I passed out at the center."

They rounded the front of Clint's truck to see the passenger side front tire. It wasn't completely flat that morning, but time grinding along its rim dropped the pressure to virtually zero. Where they expected to see the flattened tire, though, they instead saw Logan rolling the recently procured full-sized spare into place. He had just begun jockeying the lug nuts on when he stared up at them.

"This doesn't make us friends." Logan said.

* * *

><p>No Cliffie this time because, of course, i'm being generous for Christmas:)<p>

**_Next Time: Fight Night_**

PLEASE REVIEW! Have a question? I love to answer them, so PM away:)


	3. Chapter 3 -Fight Night-

**A/N:** Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas time! Here's a little treat for you!

**Shout Outs**: To my beloved editors, Icanhearthedrums and JRBarton without whom my work would be in sad, grammatical disarray.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3 –Fight Night—<strong>

"So, lemme get this straight. You go 'round with a black hat on your head and tell everyone you're some kinda crazy looking black furball and they buy that?" Rocket leaned back in his chair and rocked in a fit of laughter. His paw slapped the knee of his orange jumpsuit while one elbow nudged the massive leg of Groot.

The tree-man grinned and replied, "I am Groot," in a very firm, yet jovial sort of way.

T'Challa, the butt of their current laughter, failed to understand the level of their amusement. "I will have you know that in Wakonda I am the King of an impenetrable force of warriors that have a taste for wild meat."

"Not me, happy, I'm too chewy and personable for bushwhackers." Rocket pulled out his second favorite gun and twirled the instrument in his hands. It was a veiled threat at best.

Groot nodded in agreement of his friend. "I am Groot."

Linnor, a light elf and emissary of Alfheimr, approached from a distance and nudged T'Challa as he passed through the epicenter of what may surely brew the next super hero fight. "Do not let our diminutive friend set your sights on a prize other than what you seek." Linnor advised. "I have come a considerable way to see our ally, Clint of Barton, battle your agility. I do not want to miss the opportunity."

"Hey, Pointy, shove off. I'm trying to make a buck over 'ere!" Rocket complained.

"You have precisely three hundred units at your disposal and every one of them have been set against our friend, the Black Panther. Attempting to end his match prior to its start assures you of success." Linnor smiled as he ousted Rocket's plan. He tipped a hand at the Black Panther and moved on to the next group of clustered Avengers. He had hoped to see the Black Widow on that day, or even Clint Barton but the former had not planned to appear and the latter had yet to extract from his office.

"Linnor!" Storm exclaimed as he approached them. Her hand extended to his and in one sweeping motion the Alfheimr native drew it to his lips.

"A pleasure, my queen, always." He told her smoothly.

"Pleasure's mine, always." She replied.

"Do us a favor and don't feed his ego." Steve Rogers complained, turning toward him. He nodded a hello. "Good to see you around. I thought King Haladarrel[Autore sc3] would need you. Isn't this the Inaugural Celebration week?"

"It does not begin until three Midgardian days from now. I have time to be here and enjoy my leisure." Linnor raised an eyebrow to Storm. She pursed her lips in secret interest of his attention.

"A ham if there ever was one." Bruce Banner said. He nudged Storm's arm to break her overwhelming trance. Linnor had that way with women most husbands and boyfriends couldn't stand. Outrageously handsome with two thousand years spent studying the way to woo women and carving a name for himself as one of the most formidable elven warriors in the galaxy, with a greater strength even than his Dark Elf rivals, Linnor had it all: beauty, brawn, and a talented brain, the trifecta. Natasha Romanov fell for him, twice. Pepper Potts ran away with him during the aftermath of the first Ragnorak. Three mutant women disappeared with him into the halls of the Lakeheed palace and never returned to Midgard. His reputation among the circles of heroes was both famous and infamous and yet still none could resist him.

"I'm surprised Haladarrel let you off your leash." Steve told him.

"I have paid my penance already for this endeavor and," Linnor extracted a leather satchel from the pocket hiding within his tunic. "Along with Queen Aralaheal's prediction that the Hulk will best friend Thor, I have brought along the countermand to such an advance. King Haladarrel claims Thor will be victor. I hold two hundred jewels from both."

He handed the satchel full of money over to Steve, arguably the only one in the room trusted with protecting the books, and went off to mingle in the crowd. As he passed her, Linnor's hand trailed along Storms shoulder, slipped across her neck, and combed her hair from root to tip. She required no invitation to follow after the elf. She'd been hooked.

Steve shook his head at the sight. In no less than ten minutes he predicted the elf would have made a hefty harem and would enjoy the remainder of the night attending to their ministrations. At least he had a considerable group to choose from.

Champions from all walks of life came out to Clint's Place for the night's show. From the Avenger's side, nine of the ten ranking members were in attendance with the only absence being Natasha. That left Clint, Steve, Thor, Bruce, T'Challa, Vision, Peter Parker, and Hank Pym still around to pick up the slack. Three of the four Fantastic members came: Susan, Johnny, and Thing specifically. The only off worlders, besides Thor, were Linnor, Groot and Rocket. Star Lord planned to attend but after getting pinched in an off world lock up by Delgas 5 for trading with less-than-legal smugglers; both Peter Quill and Drax hadn't manufactured their own escape. Gamora went in to bail them out. Dozens of mutants attended the fights. Logan, Cyclops, Rogue, Quicksilver, Angel, Colossus, Iceman, and countless others Steve had only either read about or met in passing. Few lone wolves even attended like Rhodes, Blade, and Punisher and the lesser known Katie Bishop, Wasp, Iron Fist, and more. Over one hundred super heroes crawled out of the woodwork to see Hulk vs. Thor. But for now, they were satisfied enough with the less attention-grabbing ringers.

Johnny Storm had the flamboyance of Fabio with the attention-grabbing potential of exotic road kill. He had no chance of landing a new lady in the room with the likes of Linnor around and perhaps that knowledge created a deeper focus on his match against the one and only Cyclops. Whoever devised the match up (Charles Xavier) had obviously planned on the dueling heat of their individual powers putting Clint's Danger Room to the absolute test. Nothing short of atomic particle bombs were leveling the adamantium floor. The heat itself raised high enough to roast Marshmallows over, even from outside the insulated walls.

Tony returned from the BYOB table and held out a few beers. Bruce and Steve both took the offering while T'Challa, the only one of them besides Stark who had the ability to get drunk, declined.

"Clint hasn't come down yet?" Steve asked Tony. "That's not like him. Especially with his own round on the books. What's he doing up there?"

Tony shrugged. "Got me, I thought he was in the locker room. No one's seen him?"

Steve extracted his small notebook from his back pocket. Four dozen different betting odds were written there along with the names of contributors to the overall pot. On the opposite page were the fighters that signed up for matches and who they wanted to square off against. Already Iron Fist and Spider Man finished their round, followed by Punisher and Quicksilver, Thing and Angel, and Vision and Groot. The best one amongst them was by far the last. Now they enjoyed the Human Torch and Cyclops but following that came T'Challa and their host, Clint. Barton had yet to even sign himself into the sparring match. Most of the attendees were on crunches for time. The world's villainy didn't exactly stop for Fight Night. If he didn't show for the allotted time slot, then he automatically forfeited and T'Challa split the bet money with those who counted him in the winner's column.

Steve checked his watch. "Clint's still got twenty minutes, so it's not a big deal. I'm just surprised he missed out on watching Groot."

Suddenly Tony had a bad feeling rest in the pit of his stomach. He didn't dare share it. "Well, I'll go up and grab him. I bet he's planning something, or got caught up. Don't mark him down for fighting just yet."

Without bothering to explain, Tony deposited his beer in T'Challa's hands and jogged for the stairs. He didn't want to appear too alarmed. After all, some of the people in the room were telepaths and seeing Tony Stark race away from the center of the action would raise more than a few cerebral red flags. He took the stairs two at a time, burst into the open hallway of the upper range and nearly ran straight through Clint's closed office door. In the years since Clint built the place with blood, sweat, and bare hands he had never once shut that door. Tony quietly wrapped his knuckles along the frame.

"Clint?" he called. One hand reached for the door knob and tried to twist the handle. It didn't budge.

"Clint, it's just Tony, unlock the door."

No response.

"I'm serious. It's just me. Let me inside before I bust the door down. You know everyone will hear it and is that really what you want?"

Tony let the words sink in and, after a little time, the lock sprang free. He paused, allowed Clint a chance to shift away from the inward swinging door, and slipped inside.

Clint sat on the floor between his file cabinet and the corner of the door frame. He had a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a shot glass in the other. The floor was partially covered in alcohol he'd either over-poured or just plain spilled. The minute Tony saw the state he was in, the Avenger decided no one else was about to see him. He slid the door shut again and flicked over the lock.

Barton held a finger in the rim of the shot glass and poured a drink. After it filled just enough, he set the bottle between his knees and held up the glass to Tony.

"You remember the first time we decided to be partners, Tony? I had gone down to Mexico and a couple of thugs I thought I could take smashed my leg. A week later I was sitting on your couch and you got me drunk on Jack Daniels and Cheeze Its."

Tony leaned on the door with his back and slowly slid down the frame until he and Clint were sitting beside each other. He stacked his elbows on the tops of his knees and grabbed the shot glass Clint offered him. He drank and handed it back.

Clint repeated his new-found technique for filling glasses.

"You broke into my house."

"Yes I did. And look where that lead us? Sitting in my office. Both of us have girls that we love but we'll never really run off into the sunset with. Both of my wives are dead. My child is dead. I'm deaf. You still can't walk right after that severed vertebrae in your neck. Can you feel things on your left side yet?"

"Only in my hand." Tony admitted, feeling the noose marks with said hand.

Tony had been lynched by the evil hand of one of their most formidable foes. Everyone held the impression Iron Man would end up a paraplegic. Light years from home, galaxies away, there was no one left to care for Tony through that horrifying time but Clint. Not only did Barton get them out of there, back to Earth, and into one of the best rehab and surgery centers in the country, Clint even convinced Bruce to get a fourth doctorate in neuroscience and brain/spinal surgery. While waiting for Bruce to design the perfect way to tackle Tony's injury, the man resorted to living in his suit for even everyday life. On the outside Iron Man was perfectly normal. To his friends, to Clint, they knew better. Barton walked in on him one day when Tony reached his breaking point. He considered suicide better than living with his own afflictions. Clint wrestled the gun away from him back then, receiving a new hole in his thigh for the trouble.

Considering that time, both men needed no encouragement to take another shot. Bruce did eventually do surgery on Tony's neck with a team of two other surgeons. They restored Tony's ability to walk again and live a mostly normal life. They could not give him back the feeling of touch on the majority of his left half. That was a tradeoff Tony could tolerate, so long as his hand still worked.

"I've got more health crap going on than they have names for and now what? Now after years of breaking my body in half on this planet and plenty others for everyone else but myself what do I get?" The shot he poured he drank himself before making a forth which he gave to Tony. "I get rewarded with a brain tumor. I'm an ARCHER and I get a BRAIN TUMOR!"

Tony didn't hesitate. He took the shot. After Clint first received the diagnosis he went through something very similar to what Tony witnessed now. Both of the men had attended enough therapy sessions in their day to recognize the stages of grief. All Clint needed was a friend or a non-judgmental shoulder to lean on and man to drink with. In the past, Tony always fulfilled that role for Clint and as far as Stark knew, he always would.

"When did it all go black?" Tony asked. He'd been at Clint's house just the day before to check on how he was doing. Passing out in the Danger Room worried both of them so Tony set out to be more involved in Clint's health from that point out.

"I woke up and I was blind again. I didn't miss my meds. I didn't skip something. I was fine when I went to sleep and not when I woke up. I thought maybe it would come back. It always came back up till now." Clint said. He offered Tony another shot, which Iron Man drank.

"How did you get here?"

"Logan drove me in. I made some excuse. I didn't tell him the truth, but he probably knew." Clint poured again and took his fifth shot. Gauging by the amount of liquor on the floor and that missing from the bottle, he hadn't started drinking until a few minutes before Tony walked in. Clint's family had a bad history with alcoholism. Tony could count on one hand how often Clint himself crossed the line.

"I can't go down there. Not like this."

"I agree. You can't go down there like this. I know you can't look at yourself, but believe me when I say you look like hell." Tony leaned over and took the bottle and shot glass. Clint was having a difficult time holding it steady as his hands began shaking.

Barton leaned his head back against the wall and rubbed his eyes. His heart began to pound. He felt the beats like the thrum of a war drum rushing behind his ears. Slowly the muscles over his chest tightened down like a vice and he breathed a little faster. Panic shot adrenaline through his veins and his entire body began to vibrate with the force of it.

"I can't," Clint whispered, shaking his head. His throat constricted in terror. "I can't do this. Tony, I'm not ready. I can't do this. It's not fair. This is everything I am. I've lost it all. I've got nothing left."

Seeing the cardinal signs of a panic attack, Tony closed in and grabbed Clint's shoulders. "Don't think that! This isn't over! Just because some guy in white jacket says you won't see again doesn't mean you aren't an Avenger! If Daredevil can go on being the world's worst defense lawyer by day then you sure as hell can be one of us until the day you drop dead."

Clint continued to shake as if from his own personal earthquake. Tony's words did filter in and prevented him from coming completely unhinged though it wasn't easy.

Someone began to knock on the door. Tony looked over his shoulder at it with pure disdain. "Whoever it is, go away!" he shouted.

"I don't want to see anyone." Clint said.

"You won't." Tony told him.

The person pounded harder. "It's me! Open this door before I peel it back like a sardine can."

"Logan can come in." Clint corrected.

Tony leaned over and flicked the lock. A second later, Logan stole inside and locked the door. He looked down at the two of them. Tony with the nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels and Clint covered in liquor and tears; it wasn't hard to figure out what they were doing in that room all alone. Logan cursed beneath his breath.

"Sums up how I feel." Clint said.

"T'Challa's worried you won't show. What are we going to tell him?" Logan asked.

"Tell him I'm getting drunk." Clint replied.

"No, you're not." The X-Man said.

Tony held up the bottle. "As far as I'm concerned, we are."

"No, you aren't." Logan leaned over, took the bottle, and set it on the desk and out of reach. "We're dealing with this crap you're in. You've got two options. One, you go down there and get the whooping that's coming to you and don't tell anyone why the world's greatest marksman can't keep up with the guy dressed as a giant cat. Two, you don't go down there and all of them come up here to figure out whether you are dead or dying."

"He could tap out." Tony suggested, surprising even himself at the thought.

Clint sat forward off the wall. "Hey, that might work."

"You shot your bow the other day. That weird one. You told me last night it wrenched your shoulder." Wolverine said.

Clint nodded. "Yeah. It's still bothering me."

"I'll stay here a sec, make sure it bothers him more." Tony said.

"We'll go with that. I let them know. You," he pointed at Tony, "Get him off his butt and downstairs sober. I don't care how you do it. If he doesn't show up for Thor's fight it's not going to matter what excuse I give." Pulling the door inward again, Logan headed out.

:(:):(:):

Steve waved a hand over his head to grab Logan's attention. He'd send the mutant off to track down Tony and Clint who had yet to appear on the floor. Scott and Johnny had just finished their own fight with a spectacular duel knock out. Xavier assisted in telekinetically moving them off the mat. The focus slowly turned to T'Challa and the obviously missing host for the evening.

"Where is he?" Steve asked, obviously concerned.

Logan shrugged. "He's tapping out."

Steve dropped his schedule book. Without another word he nearly blew right through Logan in his quest to rush up the stairs. Clint never quit something before he started. Never. If he tapped out that meant he was dying, kidnapped, or dead. Wolverine grabbed the bulldozing Captain America before he went too far.

"Hang on a sec, bub! He's all right! If you wanna blame someone, blame that kid he's always showin' off for. He pulled his shoulder out shooting that dang bow the other day and Stark's up there telling him to quit it."

T'Challa, seeing the commotion, jogged over. "Has something happened?"

Steve looked hard at Logan. He knew a lie when he heard one and, though Logan was incredibly convincing Steve understood better. If Logan wanted to keep whatever-it-was under wraps for now, then Rogers was going to play ball. He didn't have to like it though. Swallowing down the curiosity temporarily, Steve turned around and picked up his book again. He slipped it into his pocket.

"T'Challa, Clint's taking a tap out on this one. He's got an injured shoulder from shooting. You can force a match, but you won't be getting his best. We have," Steve rechecked his watch, "four minutes to find a stand in, or you get the prize."

Logan's gaze cut straight across the floor to an individual in particular. "I think I've got one little furball in mind."

T'Challa followed the gaze. Beneath the shade of his black mask, he grinned. "I think I approve of this substitution if he can be convinced into it himself."

"Convince Rocket to fight someone? Yeah, I don't think that'll be hard. Especially, since he'd lose out on three hundred space-bucks if he refuses." Steve pulled the pen from behind his ear and started to make adjustments in his book. T'Challa headed over for Rocket to discuss the substitution.

Steve leaned a little closer to Logan and whispered, "You going to tell me what's going on with my team, or am I going up there to figure it out myself?"

"Stop twisting your panties, Spangles. Why don't you call Widow and squirm the information out of her?"

Steve gave him a strange expression. "How could I? No one's seen her in weeks."

Logan blinked, surprised. "Wait, wasn't she with you? In Washington?"

"D.C.? No, she wasn't. Who told you that? Is that what Clint said?"

Logan shrugged, didn't say anything more, and moved off before the veritable truth-detector pinned him down like a dead bug. He wondered why Clint would lie about something like that. Apparently the archer was hiding more secrets than just his loss of eyesight.

Though considerable sums of people were surprised at the change in the fight, Rocket became a fantastic replacement to Clint's own skill. The new fighters headed right into the ring without waiting for it to cool. The adamantium floor nearly melted under the assault of the previous occupants. Xavier sealed the ring from the outside and offered to officiate.

"What has befallen friend archer? I thought for certain he would enjoy this night and I have not yet seen a sight of him. Is he ill?" Thor asked. Bruce and he approached from across the room.

Steve shrugged. "I don't know, it doesn't make sense to me. I feel like Logan knows—"

"There he is." Bruce interrupted. The three turned to watch as Tony and Clint trudged down the stairs together. Spying the circle of Avengers, Clint lifted a hand and waved at them. Before reaching them, a ring of heroes cut his and Tony's progress off. Clint laughed and joked with the likes of Linnor, Storm, and Rogue. He tugged the back of Iron Fist's bandana off his head and stole Deadpool's drink before meeting up with his friends. His face took in the ring containing Black Panther and Rocket raccoon.

"Rocket tapped in for me? Remind me to order him a flea collar for a thank you gift." Clint said, chuckling.

"Shoulder OK?" Banner asked, fully prepared to put his honorary medical degree to work.

Clint glanced over for a second but continued to watch the fight. "It's getting better. I wanted to go in, but Tony and Logan said I shouldn't. It wouldn't be fair."

"Can you pull your regular bow?" Bruce diverted around Thor's cape and took Clint's right hand. He rotated the archer's shoulder up and out.

Clint didn't have to fake the sudden swell of pain from the doctor adjusting him. "Ow."

"Huh, you did tweak it didn't you? Have you been icing it?"

"Few times a day."

"What brought this sudden change, my friend? I have not known you to be so careless in a long time." Thor asked.

Clint searched around. "Yeah, it's wherever that pinhead girl of mine got off too. She's bound and determined to give me arthritis."

"Well whatever she's doing, stop it. I don't want you really screwing things up." Bruce told him after letting go.

"I'd like to see you convince her of that. I've already tried."

Tony tugged the back of Clint's shirt and indicated someone with the point of his finger. "You forgot, Bill needs to go up and finish that crap you left all over the office. Wanna tell him now?"

"Oh, fine." Clint replied. He tipped his beer at the others and headed off with Tony again to run into Bill, leaving the Avenger's none the wiser in his wake.

When they were away, Clint whispered. "I think that worked."

"I think yanking your bow back forty-five times in the office before we got down here helped." Tony responded. He seamlessly guided them toward the periphery of the room where both Avengers took a seat on the benches together. Others stopped to greet them along the way and compliment Clint on the new improvements but none stayed too long. The corner Tony picked for them was relatively vacant for now. Soon, however, the other Avengers would guide over like they normally did. In settings such as Fight Nights, groups tended to stick together, whether they be off-worlders, X-Men, Avengers, or lone wolves. One tended to surround himself by the favorite people in his life. Typically that meant teammates were best friends and there was little reason to branch beyond that.

"I'm going to hate myself in the morning for doing that." Clint said. He rubbed his eyes again as if it may somehow relieve the pressure from the tumor in his brain or return his sight. Neither resulted.

"We'll ice you later."

"Can shoulders get headaches?"

"Yours can. How's the head though?"

"Fine save the obvious. Doc's gonna get on me for drinking. What's happening now?"

Tony spent a little time describing the general layout to him. The closest heroes included Logan and Bill, who stood as a sort of periphery buffer to any incoming individual attempting to greet the evening's host. T'Challa and Rocket had abandoned any initial warrior decorum and now set out to pummel the ever-living daylights out of one another. Rocket was too slow to catch Panther's movements, but Panther had too little agility to stop the barrage of blaster fire from bringing him down. Groot cheered on his friend in the only way his vocabulary knew how while the awkward Vision inspired T'Challa's victory. The match lasted the longest yet, a full half hour of impossibly fast moves and radical attacks before a draw was inevitably declared.

"Here she comes, get your game face on." Tony whispered.

Clint sipped from the beer he hadn't finished and leaned slightly to his right. Tony's hand signaled him in much the same fashion they had devised when Barton first lost his hearing all those years before. A tap in one place, tug in another, a pressure in just the right location and Clint could follow the movements of others and predict who was coming up to him next. One finger traced the letter "K" against Clint's leg.

"Hey Kate." He said before she had the chance too.

"Hiyah boss! Hi, Tony." Katie Bishop said, planting herself directly between them. Tony refused to give up his position of signaling power by Clint's side, and Clint too, didn't move over to make room for her. So the girl ended up straddling one of either of their knees.

"Fine, don't move." She said, crossing her arms.

"Don't call me boss. Only Bill can call me that. Because I pay him." Clint said.

"I Robin-Hooded twelve arrows after you stood me up with that crappy bow of yours. I think I might even keep it."

"You can keep it when I'm dead." Clint told her.

"Or blind." She reminded him. "So I think my odds are pretty good. Cap says you hurt your shoulder. That you tapped out?"

"You hurt my shoulder. I don't need to keep proving I can hit the 2000 meter just to impress you."

"Hey, you can't put that one on me." Katie said. She slipped her hands down between the two of them and tried to slide the men apart, but the Avengers remained stuck together like glue.

"We're having a guy moment, and you are interrupting. Now scoot off with your boyfriend and let us old men sit here and drink." Tony said. He reached beneath her and with one good shove lifted the girl up and away.

Against his strength, there wasn't much Kate could do to plant herself. She seethed back about not having a boyfriend, to which Tony told her to go off and find one. She lifted a finger at him she was lucky Clint couldn't see. Tony got up and chased after her until finally Katie went off to her own little clan of young friends. Iron Man shook his head and met up with Thor and Bruce both who were on their way to see Clint.

"Hey, look who's wearing his Hulk busting underwear. See, Clint, I told you I'd get Bruce to use it." Tony said by way of explanation. He stood across from Barton, the toe of his right foot barely touching the tip of Clint's.

"Hey, look at that!" Clint declared with the careful prompt. "Stylish, Banner."

Bruce pulled at the form-fitting fabric Tony had created. Apparently it had the ability to change its shape and stretch to exponential proportions much the same way Mr. Fantastic's Fantastic Four suit could. He'd already removed his shoes and normal clothes and set them in a pile beside Clint's hand.

"Keep Tony from running off with those if I end up naked at the end of this." Banner said.

"Do you realize who you just asked to do that?" Clint posed with a smirk.

Banner turned to Steve who walked up. "Clint's got a point. Steve, you watch my stuff. I better come back to find both of my shoes."

"I am exceedingly looking forward to this bout of ours!" Thor exclaimed. He swung his hammer in gentle circles.

"I'm not doing anything. You and the Hulk are hashing this thing out."

"How much is this wager up to on them, Steve?" Clint asked. He felt around for the label on his beer bottle and began to focus on picking at it. The distraction kept him from not being able to meet them all eye to eye.

Steve didn't even have to check his books to know. "It's split half and half. Up to three grand on Thor taking the win and another three on Hulk. I have one person down for a draw, but its twenty bucks. If Hulk wins, Bruce is donating too..."

"Water Defense. Clean energy progress." Bruce supplied.

"Right, and if Thor wins he's getting that new outdoor equipment for the orphanage." He checked his watch and nodded toward the ring. "Game time. You guys set?"

Thor slammed his hand against Bruce's chest which nearly knocked the Hulk out of him prematurely. Receiving the good lucks from their friends, both climbed into the center of the ring. Xavier sealed the door behind them and the match bell rang only a few second later. Thor didn't even wait for Banner to transform before he lifted into the air, swinging Mjolnir over his head. Bruce himself diverted the first level of attack and waited until the second blow from Thor's hammer connected before the Hulk literally ripped out of him. The entire crowd roared in time with the Hulk. The room erupted with a bolt of Thor's lightning and all at once the fight was on.

Steve, T'Challa, and Vision had abandoned their own side groups to band together as Avengers and watch the world-class match up. They couldn't hide the pride they felt at watching everything continue on. Thor and Hulk had been key members of the team from the very start. To see as many others come out just to watch them go at it had an inspiring intonation.

Tony tapped Clint's foot twice. The archer stood.

"Two steps forward. T'Challa's on the right. Go left one step. The ring is right there." Tony instructed beneath his breath.

Clint followed every word until he could reach out and feel one of the vibranium/adamantium struts. He leaned against it and gazed sightlessly forward as the match raged on. He could play this part well, he realized. Seeming totally normal, acting like nothing at all was wrong with him. He'd gotten in trouble for this kind of thing in the past with his team and no doubt Steve would be grilling him over it. But old habits die hard.

The concussive thumps from that almighty battle vibrated through the ring walls and across his entire body. It was difficult for him to tell if it was just him shaking again, or if it was the fight. Internally Clint warred himself. For years he had looked forward to one day seeing Thor and the Hulk go all out, no holds barred, intentionally, and not destroy an entire city block in the process. As one of the Hulk's best friends, Clint wanted the chance to cheer the green guy on. But now what could he possibly do?

The longer he stood there and listened to the excitement, cheers, cracks of thunder, and Hulkish roars, the higher his frustration level rose. The panic that once overtook in his office began fighting into his veins again and if Tony hadn't been next to him watching for the moment to hit, Clint might have completely lost in in a very public way. Tony grabbed Clint's wrist, hard enough to set off Barton's automatic response of snapping out of the hold. Tony nearly found his arm broken, but avoided Barton's close circle ju-jitsu just in time.

"STOP." Tony ordered, very close to him in a hard, but low voice.

Clint came to his senses, but still the panic threatened to overpower him. Taking a corner of Clint's shirt in his fist, Tony yanked him away from the ring. They needed a moment alone, away from the noise and people, and everything else. This was a bad idea. He should have listened to his instincts and kept Clint in the office and away from people. Maybe he could have lied and said they headed to the hospital for a CT. Anything he came up with would have been better than seeing Clint tear himself up like this.

"Hitting the can. Make sure nothing fun happens without us." Tony announced as he dragged Clint by the others. He shoved has beer bottle into Vision's hands. "Finish that for me."

With Tony taking the lead, Clint did his best to follow his footsteps and not run into random people along the way. The minute he heard the locker door swing open, and the fight outside die down his heart started slowing.

"Just breathe through it." Tony said, still guiding them deeper into the locker room. He didn't stop until they were well into the back, beyond the stalls, changing rooms, and showers. There was a supply closet Clint typically kept stocked but Bill organized. Until they were inside with the door shut behind them, Tony didn't stop moving.

"I don't want to do this anymore." Clint said, a measure to quick, a little too loud. "Tony, who thought I could do this? I can't do this. I need my eyes. There's got to be something—I can't just do nothing."

"Clint, breathe before you pass out." Tony said.

"I can't breathe!" Clint exclaimed.

"You're doing it right now! Stop freaking out for a second and think about something else. Like Natasha in a thong. Forget that, think of Natasha naked in Cabo, on the beach and no one is there but the two of you."

"That's not helping my blood pressure go down! In fact, it's doing the opposite!" Clint didn't mean to shout at him, he just didn't know what else to do.

"Well stop it then because you'll make yourself pass out!"

"I know that!"

"So dead puppies then!"

Clint pulled the hand away from his temple for a moment to look on Tony's direction. The blood continued to pulse behind his ears like someone turned on two garden hoses full blast. If he continued to panic, the pressure in his brain would build up until he had no choice but to pass out or die.

"What did you say?" He asked, slightly calmer.

"Dead puppies. That's what on stage people do. You freak out, get nervous, they say think about dead puppies. I don't know why. But if thinking about her is getting you excited then start thinking about dead puppies."

"Tony, I love dogs, why would you make me think of dead puppies, that's just going to make me upset!"

"Well do you have any better ideas?!"

Clint shook his head a little. His voice returned to a normal volume again. "No . . . well . . . yeah. Yeah I do."

"Ok."

"I'll just tell them."

Tony didn't have to hide his surprise at the bold declaration. Ever since he first diagnosed Clint's recurring headaches as something entirely more sinister, the archer had been adamant on keeping it underwraps until they could no longer do so. If he cracked within the first 24 hours of being permanently blind, on a night where almost every one of his close friends were gathered for a good time, it would be the biggest reveal he'd ever had. So big, in fact, he might even face overwhelming opposition at proving its authenticity. Such a decision could not be taken lightly, or made rashly. This might mark the end of Clint's Avenging career depending on exactly how Steve took the news.

"You know what it means if you do this, Clint?" Tony asked gently.

The archer nodded.

"I'm on your side. You know I am. No matter what. Don't ever forget that."

Clint's smile returned. "I know. Brothers, right?"

"Always."

:(:):(:):

"You guys are missing out on all the excitement! The Hulk literally just pulled the Loki-smash on Thor, Thor used his hammer to stick Hulk to the floor and throttled his face, and then Hulk grabbed him by the leg and swung him into a wall! This has been fantastic!" Katie exclaimed when Tony and Clint rejoined the circle of Avengers.

Tony glanced at Cap. "I told you not to let anything exciting happen."

Steve shrugged. "Hey, your loss. You two enjoy skipping to the bathroom together?"

"I wanted to fix our hair, but Tony didn't have a comb so we just sat on the sinks and talked about boys instead." Clint smart mouthed. He smirked toward the Captain's voice. Steve jabbed him in the side with an elbow, surprising himself when Clint didn't try to avoid him. The archer bent over and kneaded his ribs.

"You're so weird." Katie told them. She turned her attention back to the fight. Thor refused to call Mjolnir off of Hulk's chest. Hulk refused to let Thor breathe, and if neither of them backed down they risked a duel knock out. Thor attempted to twist out of the Hulk's grip, but the big green monster just squeezed harder. Thor's face began to turn purple.

"I don't believe it." Tony said.

"No way." Steve said.

Whereas the Hulk could survive with Mjolnir on his chest, Thor could not live without adequate oxygen. The Hulk was going to force is hand. Thor had to lift Mjolnir to get out of the big guy's grip. Everyone watched, waited, and as Thor's eyes rolled back into his skull he at last gave in and called his hammer. He swung, the Hulk let go, and at the same time the fist and hammer slammed together. An explosion of lightning energy blinded the room and when everything settled, the Hulk was left standing. Thor didn't lose consciousness but he teetered on the edge. The Hulk took a moment to gloat in his overwhelming victory before falling right over backwards in a gyrating heap. Thor, determined not to be the only one on his back, had electrified the adamantium floor. It then became a Rocky-style race to see which hero could make it to their feet first.

Katie leaped up and down, screaming frantically for Thor to stand. The Hulk rolled, twitched, and shrank. Thor set Mjolnir along the floor and used its handle as a crutch to get his legs under him. The Hulk wavered over onto his side as more and more of Banner appeared. Thor was at his knees. Bruce rolled onto his back and gasped. Thor put down one foot. Banner rolled to his stomach and stumbled over against a wall.

The room was a cacophony of noise from all sides. Despite being unable to watch the struggle, Clint felt it in the very depths of his soul. The power struggle was addictive, electrifying, it swelled like an entity all around.

Thor fell sideways and threw out one hand against the vibranium strut. He grabbed a handful of the cottontail moss mat and yanked himself upward. Across from him, Bruce's back slid up the invisible wall. All at once they were on their feet at the same time. The room went crazy in their excitement. Despite Bruce doing his best, they knew that Thor won the bout by default. This was Hulk's fight, not the doctor's. Finished with the proof of his worth, Thor collapsed against the floor again. He grinned as large a grin as any Asgardian could manage. Bruce staggered over to him and sat down.

"That was really something." Bruce said.

"I fear I may have broken my leg." Thor replied, look down at the offending limb.

"I think my hair is on fire."

Thor glanced up. "Indeed it is."

While the two Avengers caught their breath and the entire company of observers rushed the Danger Room, Tony caught Clint up with the general outcome of the match. Clint smiled at the details.

"You know, I would call it a drawl. But then again I had twenty bucks on that." He admitted.

Tony nudged him toward a bench and Clint stayed there while the billionaire went off to help haul Bruce out of the ring. Someone brought speakers along and music started up. The celebration for the night kicked off and what was once a super-hero fight ring became a dance floor. After all, Clint was hosting this party and he knew exactly how to throw a good shindig. Tony trained him well in that regard.

Thor drank to his victory and hurried his Asgardian healing along. Bruce took a nap on the bench with an ice pack over his face. Rocket and T'Challa continued to poke and prod one another, and Scot and Johnny eventually came around and joined the festivities. Linnor found his knew beau. Katie challenged the young supermen to a dart game and Xavier froze the lot of the room for three minutes in order to take his half of the prize money and roll out without being judged for predicting the outcome. Clint held a few conversations with Logan, Bill, or Tony's assistance, but in a lull of action when his three chaperones temporarily found themselves distracted, Kate Bishop rushed him.

"Prove it!" Kate exclaimed coming up with Iron Fist, Speed, Quill, Miss America and a handful of others. She leaned in toward her mentor, holding out a handful of darts.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Prove what, shortie?"

"Quill said he's got better aim than you and I called him a liar. I know you're better, so prove it!"

Clint folded his hands. Even without his eyesight he could see right through her. "Excuse me for happening to breathe the same air as you. I've trained you, go and do it yourself. If you can beat him apparently I can."

"I did! And he still says you suck. I punched him in the face."

"She did, sir."

Barton's head swiveled toward the source of the sound. "And after she beat you and punched you in the face, you thought that helped your case? Are you an idiot?"

"I told her I gave up." Quill replied as if it helped. He was a young mutant, only just coming into his own after the registration act repeal. "But I never got to see you shoot before. She says you stuck two arrows together on a mile away shot. No one is that good."

"Did she show you the room full of arrows I have upstairs that are all from the same exact shot?" Quill didn't reply, and Clint couldn't see, so he wasn't sure how the news hit the kid.

"Hey, Hawk?" Logan's voice drifted over, but Barton made a curt sign to him. This little tiff he could handle alone.

"So let me get this straight, Quill. You called me out. My stalker beat you. You still don't believe her. She punched you in the face. You gave up . . .and you still don't believe her? Tell me where I'm falling short here."

There was a scuff of feet against the floor. Either Quill had backed down, or someone new shuffled over to them. Clint liked to imagine the latter.

"Sorry, Mr. Hawkeye." A few of the boys said all at once.

"That's right. Before you call out an Avenger who protected this planet and at least four other realms, two other galaxies, and even went into an alternate dimension, and the past, think about it. You're lucky you picked on me and not some of these other guys 'cause they wouldn't have been nice about beating you down with words and not their fists. I know you think you're all hot topics but if you don't keep humble it doesn't matter how good you are. You're no better than the men we go up against. Got it?"

The group let out a chorus of "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now scoot. And if I catch any of you drinking I _will_ _beat you_ _myself_."

"Awe! But!" Katie exclaimed.

Clint sighed. "But what?"

"But we really did want to see you shoot." Miss America said with a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Yeah, we know Kate's getting' good and all and we always see you on TV, sir, but none of us live down this way and none of us know when we'll be back either and we really wanna see you shoot something." Speed added in his traditional lengthy way.

Katie held up the darts again. "Please, Hawkeye!" When he didn't take the offering, she grabbed his hand, and dropped them into his palm.

Clint rolled the darts across each other, debating internally. He knew what his answer had to be. If he wanted to keep his blindness private, even for a little while longer, then he had to find some way to refuse her. Although, he had considered coming out of hiding. What would the room do when Hawkeye, world's undisputed greatest marksman, the only living pupil of the Swordsman and Trick Shot both, missed?

"Katie, you know I screwed up my throwing arm when I tried to prove the same point you just punched Quill for. Why do you think I tapped out on Panther? Because I liked it?" He attempted to give the darts back, but she wouldn't take them.

"You can stand close! Come on, please! Remember that time you stuck twelve darts all end to end right on the center mark? The only reason you stopped was they all fell over. Please!"

Clint considered the darts again. His voice was low as he said, "Kate, I'm not at my best, ok?"

"We don't need your best. We just want you." She replied, endlessly optimistic.

It was phrases like that which made it nearly impossible for Clint to refuse anything the girl truly wanted. He knew this news was going to crush her in a way Clint could not hope to protect her from. But sometimes, he had to stop thinking of himself as her stand in father, or cool uncle. Some days she needed to face the facts of real life. Being an Avenger had some moments of glamour, but the majority of Clint's life was spent recovering from the battles he didn't quite make it away from. It was easy to forget the pain in times of happiness.

"All right, Katie. You asked for it." He said sadly. Placing one hand over his eyes, just for show, he held out one hand for her to lead him to the target. Playing along, Katie grabbed hold and dragged him over but before letting him go, she spun him around in three tight circles for good measure.

"Clint?!"

Barton heard Tony's shout of alarm. But he raised his right hand anyway to line up the shot he knew would miss.

"Clint, don't!" Tony's voice shot out in warning, in panic. He crashed through Thor, Panther, and Steve all in a desperate attempt to stop Clint's hand before it ever let go of that dart. But he was too far away. The dart left Clint's hand. It sailed forward, cut through the air in a counterclockwise spin, and hit. Tony stopped dead in his tracks, knowing already he was too late.

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><p>will he hit the target? will he miss? Where IS Natasha? Is Clint hiding something even more sinister? Stay tuned!<p>

**_Next Time: Truth_**

PLEASE REVIEW! Send in those predictions!


	4. Chapter 4 -Truth-

**A/N:** HAPPY NEW YEAR!

**Shout Outs**: To all of you lovely reviewers new and old! you make my life full of sunshine!

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><p><strong>Chapter 4 –Truth—<strong>

The worry in Tony's declaration, the peculiar happenstance of Clint spinning in circles, and the crowd around the target, drew a few eyes from the other heroes. The dart, stuck a full three feet from its mark, kept their attention locked on like a homing beacon. A few exchanged glances amongst themselves. Some asked whether it had been Clint at all who had thrown the dart. It couldn't be, they all agreed.

Katie's face paled. Her eyes tore from the untouched target to her mentor. "Hey, what gives?"

"I missed, didn't I?" Clint asked her.

She blinked at him. "Of course you did, but . . . hey what're you trying to pull? Is this some new lesson or something? Stop fooling around!"

Clint looked not at her, but slightly past her. "I'm not fooling this time, Kate." He said.

"Yeah you are! Just shoot at the target. Why do I have to be the one to convince you?" Anger edged into her voice.

Clint looked back toward where he assumed the target was and let another dart fly. More watched him this time, to be sure their eyes didn't deceive them. After the second dart left his hand, he took up the third and threw that too. After the third he released the fourth and on he went until every last one left his hands. The room fell into an extended silence. Someone disconnected the music and Clint could feel as everyone shifted closer. The eyes fell on the mass of jumbled darts laid haphazardly around the target. No accuracy or precision. It was as if a blindfolded toddler had just finished playing a round of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.

Kate looked at her mentor. Her hands wrapped into fists at her sides. "Ha—Hawkeye?"

"I'm sorry, Kate."

Sensing something terrible, the young heroes stepped away. From behind them, Steve Rogers pushed his way through and took Clint carefully around his shoulders. The archer's body tightened like a bowstring beneath his touch. The Captain looked at the wall and back to his teammate.

"Tell me," he said.

"Everyone's looking, aren't they?" Clint asked.

"You're terrifying us. Yes, everyone's looking. This doesn't have anything to do with your shoulder, does it? Something happened to you and it's bad, isn't it?" Steve didn't raise his voice, didn't shout like he so desperately wanted. Years of working alongside the archer reminded him exactly how to treat the situation.

"I'm sorry, Steve."

"Be sorry later, tell me what's wrong."

Clint closed his eyes, inhaled, and took a few steps back from Steve. He wanted to address everyone, once, in his own way.

"I didn't want to drag the night down," he started out saying, but stopped, cleared his throat, and began again. "I know almost everyone in this room in one way or another. I consider a lot of you friends. I fought beside you, bled with you, and won with you. Some of our friends haven't made it this far. Wanda, Black Marvel, Bobbi Morse, and so many others. I like to forget I'm just a normal guy who just happens to be talented in a couple things and who gets to be on one of the strongest defense teams this planet has. But I am just a normal guy. And it's times like this I'm forced to face the facts."

He took another deep breath. A few around already began to realize he didn't look at anyone. His eyes never crossed the crowd. Nothing. He just looked forward, slightly downward, and went on.

"Before you ask if I've done everything I can think of, I have. I went to Alfheimr and Asgard as well as a few other realms. I went to the best neurosurgeons cash and the Avengers name could by. But all of them said the same word I've come to really hate. Inoperable. I have a brain tumor. They all told me one day I would go blind and when I woke up this morning I found out that day was today. So that's it. I'm deaf. You all know that. But now I'm blind too. If anyone else has any bright ideas me and a few of the galaxy's brightest brains haven't thought of, I'm all for it. These are the facts."

The sheer weight of the news lay like a thousand pound anvil. Hawkeye, world's greatest marksman, Odin's Archer, Champion of Midgard, Defender of Alfheimr, Avenger, was done for. He'd lost everything in that single moment and everyone felt it like a physical blow. And yet, he'd kept it in. Held it to himself. He wanted to let the show go on like the old carnival raised boy he was. No one moved when Kate flew forward and clung to his chest. She clamped her hands around his back and cried bitter, unforgiving tears. No one else moved.

* * *

><p>:(:):(:):<p>

* * *

><p>"Marco."<p>

"That's not funny, Clint."

"Oh, come on, Marco!"

"I'm serious, you are screwed up in the head."

"Yes, yes I am. I have a tumor. M-A-R-C-O."

Bruce rolled his eyes to the ceiling, prayed for a little patience, and sighed. "Polo."

Clint snickered, rounding the corner into the private lab on the outskirts of Princeton University's main campus. He tipped his hand to his brow and made his sign for Bruce. It was a gesture of friendship and even a little love. He only had a special sign language motion for the original members of the Avengers and a few select others. Seeing it made Bruce smile, despite himself.

Clint leaned on the door jamb. "Hi."

"How did you get here?" Bruce asked.

"I took a bus. The wrong bus first and ended up in Newark then this little old lady, I think she was a lady, pointed me onto the right bus. I missed the stop, walked back, hit a tree, and your security guard, Tyrone, led me here."

Bruce straightened. "Clint, we don't have a security guard named Tyrone."

"I know. He lifted my wallet."

Bruce moved by the desk and went to race after the despicable man who would dare rob a blind Avenger, but Clint caught his arm before he had the chance to pass him.

"Ease up, Hulk, its fine. I hid my cash in my shoe and I left my cards at home. I've had three days of practice for this blind man stuff."

Bruce gave him a long look that Clint could never see.

"Don't look at me like that." Clint said.

"How would you know—"

"I know you. Now stop it."

Bruce sighed. He abandoned the door and headed back into the lab. "So, what did you go through all that for? I didn't know you were coming by today."

"I decided to drop in. I'm trying that now. Dropping in. I don't have much else to do, I think." Clint walked forward a little, following the sounds of his footsteps. He could sense Bruce's discomfort like an electric current in the room. He decided to do something to shake Bruce up a little. He may not be able to see, but he still had a considerable memory of Bruce's lab. He knew his way around before with his eyes shut. So as he stepped in, he kicked the side of Bruce's desk and fell over sideways with a crash. Bruce cried out his name and flew around the table, only to find Clint laying on the floor laughing.

"I'm blind, not dying. Stop treating me like I'm made of glass or something. Geez, Bruce." Clint held out his hand, Banner took it, and helped the archer to stand again. "And you're mad."

"Yes I'm mad. I'm always mad." Bruce snapped.

"At me." Clint clarified. He felt along the top of Bruce's desk and cleared himself a space, then swung up onto the table top and sat down.

Bruce shook his head, removed the three bottles of acid within a hand's breadth of Clint's leg, and set them at a safe distance away. He considered closing out the project on his laptop, but then again Clint couldn't exactly see it. This problem was going to take a considerable amount of adjustment. Hopefully, though, with Bruce working full-tilt in new modes of radiative therapy, Clint wouldn't have to adjust at all.

"Yeah, I guess I am mad at you." Bruce admitted.

"Do you remember when I went deaf? That was almost twenty years ago but I remember it pretty well. Do you know who I went to first when I lost my hearing? You."

"Yeah I do remember that. And I've been thinking about it every minute since Sunday night. I don't get it. Why did you keep this from me? Me! Clint I've been working neurosurgical cases for ten years now and I'm on the forefront of neural and microscopic gene mapping. Of ALL people, why didn't you come to me?!" Bruce found an unstable hadron collider he'd been tinkering with sitting beside Clint's left hand. He picked it up and moved it across the room. He set it down harder then he should have and ionized his metal tray table.

"Bruce would you stop moving the dangerous things away from me for like two seconds so we can talk?" Clint told him.

Bruce stopped.

"Are you looking at me?" Clint asked.

"Yes." Bruce said, a little calmer.

"Ok, good. Because I'm going to tell you something I really wanted to tell you the other night but I didn't get a chance to. First, I'm sorry I missed the fight. I heard it was fantastic. Tony gave me a bit of a play-by-play but it's never quite the same as seeing it in person. I went to a movie last night. They had that headset thing for blind people, and it wasn't the same either. I just wanted to see what it was like. It sucked. Second, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. It came as a surprise. I had some headaches, bad ones, especially when I was working or leaning over. Natasha knew it because I passed out in front of her. She called Tony because you were off at the conference in San Francisco with Thor. Tony thought he was helping so he uploaded your brain scan program and ran me through it. You weren't at Avengers Mansion, so he ran the sequence through your notes in JARVIS."

He pulled a jump drive out of his pants pocket and held it out to Bruce. "I've had every neurosurgeon in on this planet with half a brain look at this scan and they all tell me the same thing. I'm coming to you, Bruce, because you're the only one I trust."

Bruce stared at his friend. He could see the hope, the curiosity, the sadness, and the silent suffering that he'd hidden for all this time. It was all there, written on his face, the emotions he'd hidden so well in front of all those friends at Fight Night. Clint was terrified.

"I'm sorry." Bruce whispered.

He took the jump drive Clint offered to him and inserted it into his computer. The computer program popped up instantly, asking if he wanted to upload the data file automatically to his simulator. He hit the enter key. The 3D rendering surrounded the room in highlights of blue and white light. Clint's skull was the first layered he could see. After cycling forward, Clint's outer brain chemistry and connecting nerves appeared. Through another layer and the blue hued brain itself came into view. He expanded the view, making the scan about the size of his desk and floated it into the center of the room.

"Did the program work?" Clint asked.

Bruce glanced over, but that quickly he completely forgot about Clint's blindness. He had no idea that Bruce was currently standing within his brain scan.

"Yes, its ok. I'm looking at it now."

"What's your diagnosis, doc?"

"I haven't decided yet." Bruce replied honestly.

He rotated the image, broke down the layers and within a few seconds came face-to-face with the tumor robbing Clint of his livelihood. The sheer extent of it made him gasp. The cancer started just behind his right eye in his frontal lobe, then extended backward and down in the floor of his skull. Medical terms Clint most likely understood more and more floated through Bruce's mind as he analyzed the extent of the damage. Lobe resection. Cranial nerve involvement. Trapped optic nerves. Depressed ventricles. A big, new, space occupying mass trying to shove into an area that hardly had enough room for what it did occupy.

"Seizures? Headaches? Feinting? Numbness?" Bruce asked the symptoms that came to him while he analyzed the scan.

"I'm on epilepsy meds. Aspirin for the headaches and blood clots I might throw. Fainted a few times. No numbness."

"Increased cranial pressure? Pressure behind your eyes? Dizziness? Change in sense of smell?"

"I'm on pressure meds. Before I faint I'd feel it behind my eyes, when I lean over too. Occasionally dizzy but not often. No change in my sense of smell."

Bruce rotated the layers, expanded the image, and digitally isolated the edges of the tumor itself. With two fingers he pinched the edge of the meningioma and dragged it sideways like a digital surgical excision. Even the program showed the sheering off of Clint's optic nerves, a chunk of his frontal lobe, and half a dozen other irreplaceable structures. The pieces floated separately. His fist could fit into the life-sized crevasse left behind.

"They said it's inoperable. I drank a gallon of water from the Flaming Falls on Asgard and even brought a gallon back to have the docs inject into my skull. The sterilization apparently eliminates the healing function. So Tony convinced them to try it unsterilized. It didn't change anything. I went to Alfheimr and saw King Haladarrel. He sent me to the Untamed Cave. I was there for ten days. It didn't change."

Bruce turned away from the image and looked back at Clint again. "Asgard? Alfheimr? Clint you've only known about this for two months. When did you have time to do that?"

Clint shrugged. "I've spent the entire time off world, Bruce. That's the only reason I've known about it for so long without telling you. Five days on Asgard during the Winter Moon shift meant three weeks earth time. Ten days on Alfheimr after that was another four weeks. I didn't get back to Earth until two weeks ago and I've had three MRI's, two neurosurgeries, and Fight Night. I should have picked up the phone to call, Bruce, but to be honest, I wasn't exactly on this planet."

"I didn't realize you left. Bill never said any—"

"I didn't tell Bill until the other day."

"Natasha?"

"I lied about her being on a mission with Steve. I don't know where she went."

The brain scan completely forgotten, Bruce approached him. He touched Clint's shoulder to let him know he was there.

"She left? Clint… Clint I'm so sorry." he asked, flabbergasted.

"I'm blind now. I'm deaf and I'm blind, and the woman I've loved for the majority of my adult life, but never married or committed my life in any way to, ran off to God knows where with God knows who because she couldn't handle the reality. She left me a note. I can touch it, hold it, remember that her hands were on it too, but I can't read it anymore." Clint's head dropped down against his chest. "I'm glad I committed it to memory."

Bruce had to take two steps back, find his center, drawl out some calm because if he didn't he would completely erupt and destroy the 2-milion dollar lab he worked to intricately build. How could Natasha just run off on Clint like that? The two had the strangest relationship Bruce had ever seen, aside from the occasional polyamorous couples or open marriages he never could wrap his brain around. Despite their never openly admitting to love, they were as close as bonded elves on Alfheimr.

"Bruce, calm down." Clint said. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to suddenly Hulk out here or something. I know how much I donated for that particle array project in the next room. Please, calm down a second."

"She just left you. She put a note on the fridge and took off." Bruce growled.

"More than what I would have done for her." Clint said. "How many times have I taken off when times get tough? What about when we almost lost Tony? Steve had to track me down in a jail on Kylan with Star-Lord and Gamora. I didn't leave a note."

Bruce folded his arms. "Do you think she stayed in this universe at least?"

"I think so." Clint sighed, his shoulders slouched. "Bruce, the scan? What do you think?"

Temporarily distracted Bruce returned to his mental calculation of Clint's brain scan. "How current are these results?"

"We did that scan last Thursday." Clint said.

"You were 80% deaf before the tumor. Did they test your hearing after finding this?"

Clint nodded. "Normal people would have caught that first, but since I've had the implant installed all my hearing is digitalized and pixilated. I've lost the rest of my hearing."

"How much has it grown since first finding the tumor?"

"Very little, but just enough in the right areas to ruin my life."

Bruce hit the key on his laptop and the program closed, its blue hues fading in the air around them. He extracted the thumb drive form the port and set is aside. One hand reached up and rubbed the creases in his brow. He hated this feeling Clint often brought to his doorstep. The archer was a one-man wrecking crew and often blew in like a dust storm. A cloud of trouble followed him wherever he went and there wasn't a single time in their history Bruce could think of Clint hiding good news from him.

"Clint, this is bad. Do you understand that?"

Clint's eyes slid shut as the news hit him like an invisible blow from Thor's hammer. He took a deep breath and held it. This wasn't a surprise, he tried to remind himself. Everyone from three realms told him the exact same news. He'd had time to prepare for this. Why did it hurt so much more coming from Bruce's lips?

"If I found a way, some way, to shrink it back then maybe we could have a chance at it. The vertigo, the loss of your hearing and sight, and the pressure in your head tell me this is very bad. Its pressing on things and in some places the cancer is trying to branch out. Once it crosses that brain barrier, then it will be in your lobes. There would be no way to remove it without taking out parts of your brain at the same time."

"Stage four cancer." Clint said.

"Yes."

"Do you think you could shrink it?"

Bruce still faced his laptop. The latest multi-model simulations of his advanced radiation therapy trials were running scenarios in real time. So far, none of those potential breakthrough treatments gave any favorable results. Some of them even proved lethal. He'd keep working at it, though. Day and night this work would be the only thing that mattered now. He could take a sabbatical from his teaching. Cancel his upcoming meetings and conferences. Clint's life took precedence.

"I'm trying to find a way to do just that. If we can hedge it, get it away from even a few things, then it might, MIGHT, be operable. But Clint, any surgery on something like this is going to have massive reconstruction. A nanometer in the wrong direction and you could lose your memories, your personality, you might develop epilepsy, stop regulating your own breathing . . . you could even lose the ability to swallow. All those same risks apply to radiation therapy also. Nothing currently on the market will hit the mass in your brain. I have to find something different. Or invent it."

"I know."

Bruce considered Clint again. The archer looked forward, where he thought Bruce must be from the sound of his voice, but didn't quite get the direction right. Clint had gone blind once before, albeit briefly. He'd saved a kid thrown in the path of Tony's chest beam. Not only did he suffer third degree burns, but he also went blind for nearly a week. The only reason he did so well with the blindness now was his practice back then.

"Clint you know I'm on the forefront of advanced radiation therapy. Is that why you came to me with this?" Bruce asked.

Barton smiled. "That and I hacked your system yesterday and JARVIS told me you were running radiation scenarios. I wanted to make sure you had the most up-to-date scans to do that properly."

Once a spy, always a spy. Bruce had only two feelings for Clint, ever. The first wanted to love him like a pair of long lost brothers. The other wanted to slug him like an old, diabolical, rival he couldn't stand the very existence of. This was one instance that reminded him of those yin and yang emotions.

"That's not the only reason, though." Clint said.

"Well, since you're so full of surprises, tell me."

Clint produced a second flash drive. He held it in his palm, working over the smooth feel. His look altered a second time. The hope Bruce saw, the faint glimmer of it peeking through the mask of blindness and the death of his dreams, faded. More bad news was on the horizon.

"Everyone knows about the brain tumor. They have a tangible reason why I shouldn't be an Avenger anymore. Steve might never tell me I'm off the team but I'm not an idiot. I'm a liability. A risk he can't take. I also know I'm off because of this." He held out the flash drive for Bruce to take. "I kept this from Natasha and Tony. Only one doctor, on Alfheimr mind you, ever saw this. In case something happens to me, Bruce, I want you to have it."

Bruce's frown deepened as he took the second drive. "Clint, is this your will?" he asked, gently.

"No, but I guess I should start thinking about that." Clint straightened his back, took a deep breath, and came right out with it. "I'm dying Bruce. I've got so much cancer in my gut they don't have names for all of it. The tumor in my head was incidental. I won't even live long enough for it to kill me. I was hoping I would be dead before I went blind, but I was wrong."

Unable to comprehend what Clint tried to reveal, Bruce inserted the second drive into his computer and perused the new scan. This one comprised the remainder of Clint's body. Most doctor's required a full body scan before starting any treatment plan for cancer. If Clint had a metastatic disease spreading throughout his body, no surgeon in his right mind would risk cutting into his brain no matter how much the archer begged. Bruce wasn't prepared for the sight on that second scan. If he thought the brain tumor was bad, nothing compared to what he saw now.

Clint's abdomen was infected. Necrotic, ulcerated, dying flesh adhered from his lower esophagus, stomach, and liver with other suspicious lesions highlighted along even more organs. The cancer spread out like a hand, the palm being his stomach with fingers spread over the surrounding areas. Most likely it started in the lining of his stomach and expanded from there. It was an ugly, terrifying, mass and Clint was right. The brain tumor might spare his life, though it robbed him of his livelihood. This . . . this was going to kill him fast.

"They gave me four to five months. That was one month ago. You know what they said after that? I should put 'my affairs in order'. No hope. No silver lining. No options. Put your affairs in order."

For the first time, Bruce was glad Clint couldn't see him. He covered his mouth with his hand and slumped into a chair. Silently he let the tears well into his eyes.

Natasha left him, and she didn't even know he had four more months left to live. Every hero on the planet surely knew by now that the great marksman stepped down. Clint went to every realm, not just to cure his sight, but because he had no other options. He had to go because he would die otherwise. Hawkeye was going to die.

"I knew you were working on something to cure this tumor, Bruce, and I came here because I don't want you wasting your time. There's nothing you or Tony can do. I don't want you canceling plans or calling out of class or to stop living your life because of this. I'm dying, Bruce. And one day, really soon, I'm going to be gone. Until then I just want to try and keep the things in my life as normal as I can, if that's not too much to ask." Clint said lowly.

"Are you in any pain?" Bruce asked. Looking at the diffuse ulceration it was obvious that Clint must be although he seemed all right on the outside.

Clint shrugged noncommittally. "Don't worry about me. I'm managing."

"What are your plans today?" Bruce asked, avoiding the topic of Clint's impending death.

Barton spread his hands. "I have cancer, I'm deaf, blind, my girl ran off, I'm home alone, and every friend I know keeps dropping by to fill up my fridge and cook me stuff. Steve hasn't told me I'm off the team but he's not giving me a mission either, and Logan is staying in my guest bedroom. Tony's terrified and I can't even tell him the worst of it. He can't handle that Bruce, I know he can't. So, I planned to hide here for a while if that's all right with you."

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><p>:(:):(:):<p>

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><p>"Thought you were heading out today." Clint said, striding through his front door.<p>

Logan leaned on the back of Barton's couch with his arms folded. "I considered it. Where were you?"

Clint frowned. "Out."

"For two days?" Logan's voice rose.

"I have things that to do. Yes for two days. Why is this an issue for you? And can I point out, I thought you were leaving today."

Logan didn't reply. He'd grown concerned about his friend since the night he found him hold up in a locked office with a bottle of Jack Daniels and no cares in the world. Clint didn't take downhill spirals, that simply wasn't his thing, but Tony did. At a delicate time like this, Logan was concerned about the friends to feeding too much off of one another. Then again, being diagnosed with cancer was something Clint never faced in the past. An enemy standing across from him with a gun was one thing. A bullet hole, a stab wound, broken bones were all things he could see, fix, and move on from. Knowing that this would not go away, surely hit the archer harder than he was letting on.

Logan started out smoother and with less accusation. "Ok, I didn't leave because Bill was worried about you and asked me to hang around. Kate hasn't been around since she found out, and when you left, that drawer full of really important drugs were left behind. I don't worry easy, bub, but I thought you might have fainted someplace and died."

Hearing this side of Logan, a compassionate, caring, concerned new leaf, made Clint's skin crawl. He worried that his diagnosis would change the relationships he had with his friends. At every turn it seemed to be doing just that. He strode into the living room, and slowly made his way to the kitchen. It was a straight shot if Logan hadn't rearranged the furniture.

"Look, don't badger me about it. See what I did there? That was funny. Now laugh or something. I was at Banner's." Clint slid his hands along the countertop in his kitchen to find the coffee pods. Being discreet about it, Logan slid them into his hand.

"You have me in stitches. What'd he say?"

Clint shrugged and fed the coffee into its maker. "Ran some tests. He's doing simulations now. Did Tony bring something by while I was out?"

Logan pushed off the counter. He'd forgotten Stark came by. "He's called twelve times at least. I tossed your phone in your room 'cause I got sick of it going off. Then he started calling me instead." His voice faded out as he went into the living room. He picked up the parcel Stark dropped off and returned. With one claw he peeled open the box.

"Sunglasses?" Clint asked. He let to coffee fill his mug, waiting for the sound of its dripping to stop.

Wolverine confirmed the guess. Clint held out his hand and Logan dropped them into his palm.

"He brought a prototype over on Friday to test out. Made a few adjustments and he was going to bring them back when I needed them. None of us figured on it being so fast." Clint slid the glasses over his eyes, grabbed his cup, and moved around Logan in the direction of his room.

"So that's it? No big reveal? Not going to tell me those things link up to your brain or something?" Logan asked, trying to at least lighten the mood. He wasn't sure what happened between Bruce and Clint, but obviously the archer didn't plan on conversation. In fact, he seemed like the only thing he wanted was to clam up and shut the whole world out.

"That's it." Clint said offhandedly. He never stopped walking.

Logan watched the archer saunter up the hall, trailing his hand along the wall to keep oriented. A few moments later his door creaked open and shut. Before Clint left, Logan had still planned on making it back to the Institute that evening. Seeing the way Clint came back? He didn't even consider it. It was time to return some of those phone calls to Stark. Before that, though, he thought he should have a little conversation with Steve Rogers. Maybe the ax finally came down and Clint got the boot from the team. It would explain his apparent depression. Losing his eyesight was one thing, losing his very livelihood in the aftermath might crush him.

"Hawk? You here?"

Logan raised an eyebrow as Tony not only randomly appeared in Clint's house, he let himself in without saying so much as a hello. Logan rounded the open kitchen doorway and gave him an acknowledging nod.

"You're still here? Why didn't you answer any of my calls?" Tony demanded.

"Because I don't like you." Logan said. He pulled a cigar out of his back pocket and stuck the unlit end in the side of his mouth. It was too early to drink something, so he decided this little vice was what he needed to endure a conversation with Stark.

"Those things kill people." Tony pointed out.

"Not me. You, maybe." Logan replied. He typically never lit up in Clint's house, out of respect, but he might consider blowing a few smoke rings into Stark's face just for the fun of it.

"Is he back?"

"Walked in a few minutes before you. Not too talkative. Said he spent the last couple days at Banner's. I guess he meant the lab. I went to the guy's house last night and didn't find either of them around."

"What were they doing?"

Logan shrugged. "Didn't tell me. He's upset. I figured Cap probably talked to him."

Tony walked over and glanced into the kitchen, looking for Barton. "Steve hasn't talked to anyone. Won't even give me a straight answer. T'Challa's at bat for Clint but Vision's all analytical and Thor's hurt and confused. Where is he?"

"Steve's not thinking about actually kicking him off, is he?" Logan asked in disbelief.

Tony crossed the hall to look out the window. Clint wasn't sitting in the backyard. "If he does, he'll have another civil war on his hands. I'm not going to stand for it. I'd just leave the team with him and see how Spangles likes it. Where is he?"

"Bedroom." The X-Man indicated.

Logan thought about that prospect. The last time the Avengers had a major upset, it trickled down into every hero group beneath them. Whether everyone else agreed to admit it or not, the Avengers were the head of the interstellar defense teams. Everyone, even Xavier, waited for them to move first before putting their hands in the evil villain-stopping plots. If some threat was too big to handle, who did the phone call go out to every time? An Avenger. They were the elite. The best of the best.

Clint was at the epicenter of the last major group shift. Wanda, or Scarlett Witch, had literally lost her mind. She enslaved the planet, tore the fabric of reality down, and created an alternative universe the world was forced to live in and endure. Her power overwhelmed so many. The heroes knew that nothing short of a bullet to the head would stop the tyranny from continuing. If Jean becoming the Dark Phoenix was the X-Men's worst undoing, then allowing Scarlet Witch to continue to enslave mankind fell on the Avenger's shoulders a thousand times over. No one wanted to pull the trigger, but for the safety of the world, one Avenger did. Clint Barton. He could shoulder the guilt of sacrificing a friend in a way that Tony, Steve, T'Challa, and all the other Avengers couldn't. The rift nearly shattered the team but in the end, they rallied again.

Soon the other heroes would learn of the trouble on the Avengers team. Everyone would have an opinion, take a side, and Steve would feel the heat of thousands of eyes on him as he made the choice for Clint's future. If Tony could get the JARVIS interface working seamlessly with Clint's auricular implants, it just may tip the balance in the archer's favor. He might never go on a high profile mission again, but that didn't matter. The name did. He could still be Hawkeye.

"Clint, we've got to talk. I need to know how—" Tony shoved open Clint's bedroom door and stepped inside before realizing that Clint wasn't even there. Rolling his eyes, Tony leaned into the hall. "Mature, oldies. Really, where is he?"

"He walked in there." Logan replied, joining him. Obviously Clint wasn't inside.

Stark tried the bathroom door. It opened without resistance, but Clint was nowhere to be found. The bathroom window had been lifted open. Apparently, Barton planned to avoid his friends for as long as possible.

"This is ridiculous." Tony said under his breath. He grabbed the window sill and slammed it shut before pushing by Logan on his way out.

"Where are you going? Logan demanded.

"To go find him before he jumps of world or something. Where's Natasha?"

Logan jogged to catch up. If anyone could track someone down, it was Wolverine. "He said she went out on a mission with Captain Patriotic."

Tony reached the front door, but stopped before pushing through. "He said what?"

"I'm guessing she's not. I asked Steve about it and he knew just about as much as you do."

"No. I haven't seen her since Clint and her got back from Alfheimr. She never came to get Steve, that's for sure." He cursed to himself and headed down the front steps to climb into his Iron Man suit. Whether he wanted them or not, Clint needed his friends around him. Tony refused to let him suffer through his condition alone.

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><p><em>A few Have asked how old Clint is in this story, well that's a little complicated, so here is my complex answer: I haven't decided how old he is exactly because I never figured how old he was in the Avengers. I figured from Lithium Hawkeye till the end of Where the Worlds Burn was three years. Then 12-15 years later is when this new book occurs, so Clint will have been an Avenger for almost 20 years all together. If he was say 30, then in this book he'd be about 50, and maybe look younger for all that time he spent off world where time moves slower. If he was the same age as Jeremy Renner, then by this book Clint would be more like 60 pushing 70. Whenever his age came up in conversation I would always say something like: <em>_"Clint how old are you now?"...__Clint replied with his age...__And the conversation would move on from there with no number ever stated. __So i like to think about him as being in the 50s_

**_Next Time Clint Travels Down to: Mardi Gras_**

Send in those predictions! Where is Natasha? What will the team do? Is this the end of Hawkeye? Is this a death fic? EEEE-GAD! PLEASE REVIEW!


	5. Chapter 5 -Mardi Gras-

**A/N:** WARNING! THE NEXT COUPLE CHAPTERS ARE GETTING A LITTLE DARK!

**Shout Outs**: To my lovely and fantastic private messagers, editors, and reviewers! I'm working on the next epic just for you!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5 –Mardi Gras—<strong>

The night closed in with a blanket of black clouds that threatened to drench the early partiers. The city streets were lined with the makings of either a war, or festivities, and in some areas a little of both. Police decorated the end of each block in battalion gear or their plain-clothes companions. Even the mounted force came out to display added muscle, perhaps in hopes of dissuading the more invested alcohol consumers from making a decision they may live to regret. On the other side of things, the populace itself was reaching a point of wanton hysteria. Men and women flooded the narrow alleys with plastic beads jingling around their necks and light-up drinks in their hands. The city swelled under the constant barrage of them like a slice of bread thrown into a bowl of water. The various establishments offering booze, girls, beads, and poo boys struggled under the weight of them all. Money flowed out of pockets as water might escape a crevice in a dam.

Clint cut a path through the men, women, and others that packed into the streets of New Orleans during Mardi Gras. He'd found a wall, stuck to it, and with his head tucked into the collar of his flipped up jacket he continued to make his way through the sea of people. The JARVIS system gave him turn by turn directions to where Gambit expressed that he lived. It wasn't much beside a small flat in an old brick face which over looked the inner heart of the city itself. Though Tony was fantastic about creating navigation systems on the fly, Clint had his doubts as to the effectiveness of the glasses. So far, he hadn't been disappointed. The system lacked a general clarity as to the details of a place, yet it worked well for getting him around traffic, subway maps, bus terminals, and the like. It was good enough to keep Logan and Stark both a few steps behind him, which had to be remarkable in itself. Tony probably never considered that Clint would run off and didn't see the need to track the independent system. Well, Clint liked to be full of surprises.

He felt around the old brick wall until his hand brushed the brass doorknob that lead up to Gambit's place. The night was still too young to expect the X-Man to be home. Clint banked on that. He hoped to get in, spend the majority of his night, and then move out before the Cajun's partying brought him back home.

_"There are fourteen stairs on the left which leads to a single entry way. The railing appears to be in a deplorable state, and I would be averse to trusting my life to it." _JARVIS piped into his hearing aid.

"Not expecting to fall off some stairs today. Unlike yesterday, JARVIS." Clint replied. With no one to talk to, he'd grown used to having conversations with JARVIS. Since the system was only patched into his auricular receivers none could hear it, Clint imagined he looked insane to the normal people around him.

_"I thought I had apologized for that misstep. All the more reason to take care, sir."_ Jarvis replied smoothly. _"Your vital signs are disturbingly high and you are twenty minutes from your next required dose of-"_

Clint turned and closed the front door, felt around for the bottom step with the toe of his shoe, and started up. "I know my vitals are crap. I feel like crap. Is his door unlocked?"

_"Your condition seems to be taking a turn for the worse, sir. It is my prerogative to recommend you seek out medical attention."_

"Keep your prerogative to yourself and tell me if the door's unlocked."

_"I do not know the answer to that question seeing as I lack hands, sir."_

Clint rolled his blind eyes and finished counting the last of the stairs. He followed the AIs instructions and walked forward so many paces, then slightly to the left, and probed for the door handle. Finding it, he tried the knob. Locked. On a whim, he knocked.

"If you are Giselle then Gambit is not by! If you are Monique then your Remy is right here, chéri." The door lock sprung open, the entry swung inward, and Gambit greeted his visitor with a wistful smile. Seeing Clint, however, his look changed instantly.

"What is this?! Do you not know that everyone is looking for you? Get in, mon'ami, before Wolverine slits my throat for not assisting you!" Gambit pulled the door open wider and stepped back to allow Clint inside.

Hearing a friend's voice, Barton wasn't sure if he was relieved, or disappointed. He'd started out this run away from home as a means of tracking down Natasha before he ran out of time. She'd left him thinking that he only had a brain tumor but with his stomach cancer spreading out of control he feared she might not return until it was too late to see him. At the same time, he realized he'd done something good for Logan and Tony both. It gave them an occupation. Instead of trying to cure him, which would inevitably reveal the fact that he wasn't just blind, but also dying, the two could focus on finding him instead. In Clint's opinion, he preferred the trade off.

He hadn't exactly fallen off the map completely, either. Every seven days he placed a call to Steve's private line and checked in with Bruce. Steve only wanted to know where he was and refused to give him a yes or know as to whether he was still a card-carrying Avenger. Bruce begged for him to return home, but never pushed him away. He could tell Clint was stilling holding secrets close to his chest. He wanted desperately to know what the archer was still hiding, but didn't want to risk the small communication Clint still kept with him by pressing too hard. Barton risked them tracking his call every time he checked in. So far the disposable cells didn't let him down.

"Logan come by already?" He asked, stepping inside. His stomach gave a painful, hard squeeze as something he'd unfortunately eaten disagreed with the corroded lining. He'd been managing the pain for the last four hours but now it seemed to be getting appreciably worse.

"Come by? Our adamantium friend tore my place apart thinking Gambit was hiding ya! He did not believe when I said I was not." Remy replied, closing his door again. Clint was known to run off when the need came. The Cajun liked to call it a gypsy spirit, but usually the archer ran from some danger or to protect those he called friends. He wondered this time just which one Clint experienced now.

"How long ago?" Clint asked.

"Two days, three? It is Mardi Gras, my friend, I do lose track of the time. You have come at a fortunate moment. I was home. Otherwise you may have begun drinking alone. Although from the look, you may have already partaken, no?"

"No just some bad Cajun." Clint lied with a grin. He wanted to rub his stomach, as if it might help tell the organ to stop trying to kill him, but that only made the pain worse.

"The only bad Cajun you know, is me." Remy said with glint of starlight in his flint-colored eyes.

"Ain't that the truth? You got a place to sit, or are we just gonna stand here. I'm a blind guy, remember, gumbo. I'm damaged goods."

"But where are my manners? Sit, my bird friend." Gambit pulled over his old lounge chair and directed Clint to it. Barton could have found his own way, but he decided to play along for Gambit's sake. When he ran into his old friends, after the news hit them, everyone wanted to treat him with kid gloves. He was sick of it. After the incident at Fight Night, Storm called Gambit immediately. She told him the details, how Clint had cancer, went blind, missed targets . . . It was mutant front page news and word spread across the country as rapidly as a forest fire.

Years ago while Tony Stark was learning to walk again, the Mutant Registration Act went into full effect. Any mutant identifying planet Earth as their original home world, claiming residency in the United States, had to register their private information, powers, and submit to a physical evaluation by the government. Compliance from the mutant community was nearly impossible to regulate. Efforts to force submission were supported by the terrified public. Those who were already registered were sequestered in modern day concentration camps. Those who refused to submit were hunted by the thousands. Deadly force became a part of everyday life. Clint virtually ran the entire north eastern seaboard smuggling operation for mutants during the registration round up. He looked out for dozens of refugees, even ended up arrested and tortured for twelve days before the government had to release him without charges. After all that, Clint went right back to shuffling mutants out of the USA and into Canada where Logan waited and their safety was better assured.

Gambit was one of the mutants Clint saved. He hid in the basement of Clint's Place for a month waiting for the next leg of the route to open up. It was during that time Clint was taken, questioned, beaten, and thrown back to his range. Even Bill left for four months to prevent being brought in himself. As an alien who looked humanoid, he was well within suspicious limits. Gambit, and the thirty other mutants hiding with him at the time, owed Clint every pound of flesh the archery lost to keep them safe.

"Tell me, what brings you here? Do not say that Gambit's visit was too short and you could not help keep away?"

"I'm leading Tony and Logan on a wild goose chase." Clint corrected. He leaned back uncomfortably in the chair, attempting to hide the painful spasm behind the shade of his sunglasses.

"Oh? This is the sound of something I like. And how did you come to this decision?"

"Tony's been cooking up radiation schemes with Bruce since they found out about the brain tumor. I've been poked, prodded, cut into and probed by more doctors than I have names for. They've all told me it's hopeless and when Strange, Bruce, and Castillo tell you a thing like that, it's time to throw in the towel. Tony might not see it this way, but I'm giving him a little break from thinking about my health. Let him wonder where I am for a while instead."

It was a shade of a lie, but with enough authenticity in it to keep the southern mutant from prying more. He most likely suspected a greater story at work than what Clint shared, typically that was how Clint lived his life.

"A friendly gesture. I must show you a good time while I have you in town, this is my holiday, of course, and if you have come to see me you must have planned for this exactly."

_Not really,_ Clint thought but didn't say it. Logan thought he was behind Clint by a day or two when in actuality Clint followed him. This little overlap gave him a spare three or four days he could technically spend in New Orleans without raising suspicion from anyone that was after him. Gambit, even if he didn't understand the full depth of why Clint needed this time alone, could keep secrets. He could also hide people. Maybe spending a little extra time in New Orleans wasn't such a bad plan after all.

"All right, Remy, but only if it's not too nuts. I'm trying to keep a low profile. And people here know my face."

"At three a.m., mon'ami, no one knows anyone's face anymore!" Gambit laughed. "Although, I think tonight you may prefer to take a rest. You look as if you had some bad crawfish, if you know what I mean."

"Something like that. Stomach's eating me up, you got any antacid or ginger ale or something?" It wasn't exactly a lie, and Clint lifted the corner of his mouth at his own sense of humor.

Gambit hopped to his feet and went to the small kitchen to check his supplies. Before he reached it, the sounds of the trumpet players and laughing girls just outside his patio window started chanting for "_beads, beads, beads!"_ Gambit detoured to poke his head over the railing into the crowd. His upstairs neighbors were already raining down their necklaces to the passersby below. The X-Man picked up a few of his own stash of strands, and flung them perfectly around the neck of a gorgeous blond. She winked and blew a kiss back.

"Planning on a rousing time out there. You've been here a couple weeks already, has the party ever let up?" Clint asked,

"In New Orleans? The party never stops! That is how Gambit likes it." He opened the mini fridge and extracted a can of Canada Dry seltzer. He popped it open himself, and handed it to Barton as he sat down again.

"I keep them to mix drinks." He explained.

"I'm glad you mix drinks, then." Clint replied, sipping the soda. It wasn't perfect, but the carbonation usually did improve his cramps. "I don't want to keep you from Giselle and Monique. You go out and enjoy. I'm going to sleep in for a bit then raid your cash stash if that's all right."

Gambit was glad Clint couldn't see the sad look on his face. He tried his best to keep his voice even and level. He could tell something more bothered the archer, but didn't attempt to draw out what that may be. Barton needed some time alone, so he could have at least that.

"But of course! Everything I have here I leave to you. I will bring you something that is more deserving a food than what has obviously floored you. Tomorrow we'll head to Bourbon Street for a French breakfast and we will start our time right!"

Gambit pushed to his feet and filled his long brown trench coat in Mardi Gras beads for the women he planned to meet. Becoming serious for a moment, he said, "All that I do is the least I can manage for the help you once gave to me."

Clint waved it off. "That was a life time ago, Gambit, don't drag up old stuff."

"Your back holds the scars of the beating you took to keep Gambit safe. I might be a gambler, but I remember the debt I owe my friends the best." He headed to the door, but paused before going out, "if you wish to not wait for Gambit to return, there is four thousand dollars in the right drawer of the desk. I have more, so take it all."

Out he went.

Clint waited for the front door to open and shut again. He sipped his cold, tasteless drink as he willed the fire burning within to quench by some small amount. After what seemed like an eternity of unrelenting agony, Clint decided Gambit must be far into the parade streets below to be out of earshot. He took his glasses off and set them on the arm rest. He needed a little relief from JARVIS in his ear. He felt the headache starting behind his eyes. It aimed to be a dozy. He could tell by the _constant thump, thump, thump_ of the blood rushing behind his ears. It was time to take his meds again, a decisions he battled constantly over. If he chose to spare his skull the migraine, he'd be sacrificing his stomach to the corrosive drugs. If he didn't take them, then he ran the potential of having a seizure, throwing a blood clot, or feinting. It was a constant, unfair trade off. The pills didn't make him tired like he told others, they made him lie on his back and scream into his pillow for hours while what remained of his digestive track attempted to do its job. He knew a liquid IV diet was waiting for him in a month, maybe two. That was the best he could hope for.

Head or stomach? That was his choice. Deal with the brain-destroying headache, possibly throw a blood clot, fall into a seizure, or worse or let his belly chew on some harsh meds which kept him alive for a couple months longer. He had no recipe for which evil won out. Two days ago he took his meds and sat in the back of a cargo train riding out his stomach pain on his way to Louisiana. The day before he skipped the meds and felt the ever increasing pressure building up. He'd even feinted once behind a grocery story. Today it was the headache's turn to go away. Clint rifled through his pocket for his pill vials, counted out the familiar shapes, and drank them down with his soda. What was to come would not be pleasant.

He slipped out of the chair and stretched out on the floor all stretched out. He grabbed a cushion off the couch and dragged it down to scream into. He knew he'd need it soon. How could a man be asked to live with these useless options? How was this fair? This pain was more than any man should be allowed to bear and yet he suffered through it alone every single time JARVIS reminded him it was pill time. The reason why cancer patients had such high suicide rates made sense to him.

As time dragged on and the pills began their painful digestion, Clint grabbed onto onto the pillow and buried his face. It was his own fault, he kept telling himself. He could just go back home and come clean about it all. He could go and get chemo for the next month, pretend that it helped, and die a slow death surrounded by the sympathy of his friends. That was no way for Barton to die. That wasn't fair to any of the people he'd devoted his life to helping. He never wanted their final memories of him to be a wasted away, senseless old fool urinating through a tube the way he saw his own mentor die. He cursed every day that memory came back to haunt him. No. That was never how he was going to die.

_Deal with it, Clint, you're strong enough to do it. So just suck it up_. That was his mantra now_. Suck it up. Deal with it. Get over it. It's just pain. _But pain had its way of making him blind even to his own struggle. More blind than even the brain tumor left him.

He should have known Gambit's own tenacity, curiosity, rivaled his own. He might have guessed that the X-Man never intended to leave Clint alone in that apartment. Remy looped back around, climbed up the drain pipe, and stood on his balcony to see whether or not Clint was hiding something grave. Gambit looked in at the dying Avenger. Without JARVIS in his ears, Clint didn't even notice him. As the archer's meds hit bottom and he writhed on the floor of the apartment, Gambit knew that something so much more was destroying his friend's life. This wasn't just a brain tumor that occasionally pressed on something it shouldn't like Storm explained. Maybe she didn't know, maybe no one did. That was typically how the archer worked.

Gambit pulled off his jacket and set it over the banister railing. He pulled out a deck of cards, slid down until he was sitting on the landing, and began to set up a game of solitaire. If Clint didn't want him to know the truth, that was just fine. Gambit could keep secrets. But if the archer suddenly got worse, Gambit wanted to be there for him, even if that meant missing out on the first night of Mardi Gras.

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><p><em>Note the next chapter title and be prepared accordingly for a dark subject matter!<em>

**_Next Time: It's Not Suicide_**

Please review!


	6. Chapter 6 -It's Not Suicide-

**A/N:** WARNING! DARK SUBJECT AHEAD (HEED THE CHAPTER HEADING!)

**Shout Outs**: To my lovely and fantastic private messagers, editors, and reviewers! I'm working on the next epic just for you!

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><p>Chapter 6 –It's Not Suicide-<p>

Blind, deaf, and dying Clint Barton still remained one of the foremost spies the world had ever seen. He could disappear into a crowd like a ghost fading into the eaves of a haunted house. When he wished to remain hidden, he could. He had the ability to fall off the very planet itself and never reemerge until he wanted to. Tony had been determined to find him, initially. On a point of pride, so had Logan. So far the mutant had never lost someone he couldn't then pick up the trail of. Until Clint came into his life, of course. Ignoring any other responsibility, they tag teamed trying to find him. Beside the very rare moments where a glimpse of Clint was caught on a security camera, the archer could not be found. So they branched out. They put Clint's face on the virtual milk carton of trusted colleagues like Xavier, Blade, the Defenders, and Luke Cage. Tony never gave up on finding him but he never succeeded either.

One day, though, Clint just walked back home as if he had never left.

The Avengers Mansion was constructed in the refurbished blocks of Harlem, not far from the apartment building Clint bought years prior and sold back to the tenants. It had all the pomp of a brick and mortar White House with the elegance of Tony's credit card. Technologically it was one of the most advanced buildings on the planet at only four stories high.

Clint strode through the front door on a Wednesday, six weeks after he left his house in New Jersey. The first great room had a sitting area on the left that typically was filled by random heroes from around the globe. This particular day found T'Challa, Thor, and Gambit ringed around the local news. Apparently some of the other X-Men were in L.A. saving the day from an attack by some renegade Brotherhood members. Clint walked in, the JARVIS system of his glasses alerted him about the men, and he nodded a hello at them.

T'Challa blasted to his feet. "HAWKEYE!" He exclaimed. Thor stood as well, though Gambit only stacked his legs on the table and reclined back.

"Where's Steve?" Clint asked, already walking away from them toward the hall.

"In the office, but, my friend—" Thor tried to say.

Clint ignored him temporarily and went right for Steve's office.

"Hawkeye?" Thor called after him. He exchanged a look with the others. The Asgardian turned to Gambit. "Place a call to the Man of Iron."

Barton didn't stop for him. He followed JARVIS's programmed directions the way he'd done for the past month and a half alone. The AI had gotten used to his individual characteristics, working synergistically with the archer's mind to interpret his requests even before Clint considered them himself. Within a few moments, he arrived outside Steve's office door. He pushed the entry open without knocking.

Steve jumped up so fast his chair shot backward and hit the floor. "CLINT!" he exclaimed.

"We need to talk." Barton said.

"Talk? Clint where have you been?! You tell everyone you care about that you've got a brain tumor and the next day you just run off? Close the door." Steve rounded his desk to approach the archer, but Clint made no move of shutting them in.

"I called last week. And the week before that. I've called every week."

"On a secure line, Clint, we tried to track it—"

"I wanted _one thing_, Steve. I never asked you for anything all I wanted was one thing." Clint went on, trying to keep his voice even and calm. He'd practiced this speech, he planned out this moment, this confrontation, and he needed to see it through without the Captain trying to brush him off again.

"Stark looked for you, I looked for you. You had all of us terrified. Logan even got cerebro—"

"-I called. I've been patient. No one can say I wasn't, I just want an answer, Steve-"

"—Banner said you were supposed to meet with him. You haven't even been to the range. Katie hasn't spoken to you since Fight Night—"

Clint's right hand curled into a fist and he slammed the base of it against the door jamb. Just within earshot, T'Challa, Thor, and Gambit all listened to the frantic exchange between the men.

"Steve, just say it!" Clint shouted, forcing the Captain to stop speaking over him. He looked at his leader, the sunglasses masking his inability to stare at him. "Tell me the truth, all right? Stop thinking I can't take it and just tell me already! You aren't protecting some part of me. I'm not some kid you can brush off. I've been at your back more times than you can ever say! More than anyone else on this team, I've been your eyes! So say it!"

Steve shook his head a little.

Clint listened, and waited, but the Captain said nothing. He nodded a little and turned toward the door. "Ok. That's what I thought."

"Clint, wait!" Steve cried even as the Avenger slipped back through the doorway. He turned left, into the Mansion, rather than heading for the front door again. At least for now, he wasn't planning to run off.

A second after Clint left the room, Tony appeared.

"What the hell, Steve?!" He exclaimed.

Steve pointed a finger at him. "You are the last thing I want to deal with."

"Why not just tell him to die? Why not just head to his front porch and crap on his steps?" Tony followed Steve as the leader retreated farther into his office. The billionaire grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut, rattling more than a few windows in the process. "Clint's sacrificed everything for this team! You know it and I know it! How could you go and rip everything away like that!"

"I never told him no." Steve said.

"You saying nothing is good enough!"

:(:):(:):

Bruce exited the stairway, frantically buttoning the last few latches of his plaid shirt. The trio of heroes standing guard outside the Captain's office door had grown to five. Vision and Pym both had joined the listening in, though how much the Vision comprehended of the tones within one could only speculate.

"Where is he?" Bruce asked.

Gambit used his staff to point up. "Hawk took off for the roof, mon'ami."

"Is that Tony having it out in there with the Cap?"

"It seems another war may be emerging betwixt our good companions." Thor said quietly. His face showed exactly how much he looked forward to that sort of babble again.

"Stay here, don't let Stark storm off, and no one else get any ideas about following him if he does! I'm taking care of this myself. I'm sick of the nonsense." Bruce said. He left the troop of gathered men and headed to the elevator. He had to speak to Clint. After all, he was the only one facing the truth of Clint's condition. If the doctors, med scans, and everything else he'd been given before Clint ran off were correct, he had less than three months to live. He swore to keep that secret from the others, but that was before, when he thought Clint would be around to change his mind. Shouldering the burden of knowledge alone threatened to give him an ulcer.

Clint spent more time on the roof of the Avengers Mansion rather than the small room he kept. Bruce didn't even bother to stop there first on his way up. A host of questions surged through him. Where had Clint gone? Why did he refuse to come back? Was he off world again? Alfheimr perhaps, trying to find another cure? Those latter ideas seemed the most logical of all. Clint burned the very flame of his life away every time he left the planet, but if it meant solving the key to his cancer treatment, could Bruce even blame him?

The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor. He got out, cut into the emergency stairwell, and went up the final flight on foot. As the doctor expected, Clint sat on his favorite ledge in the corner of the mansion roof. He looked out over the far reaches of the city, Stark Tower, the Empire state building, and so many others hidden from his eyesight forever.

"Somehow I'm not surprised to find you way up here on a day like this. It's nice out. Been raining for two weeks. It felt like we were living in Seattle." Bruce strode over and leaned on the ledge beside his companion. Clint was incredibly comfortable with heights. Bruce had a tendency to get the heebe jeebies at anything taller than a ladder.

Clint didn't answer him. He dropped his head, as if he was looking at the ground.

"Stark and Steve are at each other like a couple of pitbulls. I think they're just happy to see you home but neither want to admit it." He paused, waiting for Clint to supply something, anything, to the conversation. When he didn't, Bruce continued to go on speaking to himself. "The others are all listening at the door like they're going to pick sides. I'm sure someone called Parker. Bill called a couple weeks ago. He wanted to see if you were all right. I had to tell him I didn't know. I don't like lying to everyone Clint. Especially about this."

"Do you know how many people survive a fall from 4 stories up?" Clint asked unexpectedly.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably under the notion of that.

"15%." Clint said. "JARVIS calculates 15% of people who jump from this height will survive the fall to live normal lives. 85% will die. I've got cancer eating my insides out and a tumor in my head. The odds of my surviving this fall are 1.33%. I think even Tony would bet on odds like that."

Bruce's mild discomfort became an intense panic. For the good of them both, he tried to keep himself as calm as possible. "Clint? Why did JARVIS calculate that for you?"

"I went to find Natasha." Clint said, diverting the conversation once more.

Happy to discuss something other than Clint jumping off the roof, Bruce tried to keep up with him. "You couldn't find her?"

**"I looked up all our old contacts. She's off world. The one place I never thought she would go, and she did it. I couldn't follow her there. Heimdall knows that I'm ill. He might suspect that I'm dying. I know he wouldn't bring me to Asgard even if I stood out on a roof somewhere and begged him. I can't get a hold of Star-Lord either. I image he's still in jail."**

**Bruce sighed. "Well that doesn't surprise me at all."**

**Clint continued to look at the street below them. Bruce wondered what JARVIS whispered into his ear about the happenings on those concrete drives so many floors down. **

**"I'm not suicidal." Clint told him flatly, which gave Bruce the smallest wave of relief to hear. "I'm practical though. I think I'm a good person. I want to be kind to people. Treat them how I want to be and all that. It's not fair to all of them. Tony, Thor, Pete, you . . . none of them. They shouldn't have to watch it happen. An Avenger doesn't die of cancer. He dies defending the city. His death has meaning. Some kind of meaning. It isn't right to make them watch it."**

**Bruce's satiated panic rose into his throat again. He glanced to the street below them then back into Clint's face. He wished he could see the expression in the Archer's blind eyes.**

"You know what's not fair? Throwing yourself off a roof to keep them from seeing you be human for once in your life, that's not fair, Clint! How's that going to look on the front news? Avenger commits suicide! That'll be really inspiring!"

"Steve would cover it up." Clint said as if it was the most logical conclusion in the world. Apparently he'd been considering this for longer than he'd been sitting on the roof. "Cap wouldn't ever let a story like that get out. He couldn't. He'd do it for me, to save my name, reputation, but he'd do it for everyone else too. He'd make up some story, some battle that didn't happen and I failed to walk away from it. The funeral would be remote and quiet, and that would be it. Kate takes my place on the team. She's not great yet. Good, not great, but she can be. With some more coaching, she could be me. Steve would do that too."

Bruce's jaw lowered, his mouth hanging open. He couldn't believe the words he heard. Clint Barton never considered such horrible things. He'd talked so many men, women, and even occasionally kids off the bitter edge. Once when Tony got low after his near hanging, Clint stole a gun out of the billionaire's hand and received a gunshot wound to his thigh for the trouble of it. He despised those who considered suicide as an acceptable means of leaving the world behind.

"'It's a cowards way of cursing the one's we leave behind.' You told how many people that, Clint? Fifteen? Thirty? Forty? You told Tony that and you said it to Jubilee once too."

Clint shook his head. "You don't get it. I'm not killing myself, I'm saving them. Its better this way, Bruce. Tony can't watch this. Natasha doesn't even know about it. Steve, T'Challa, Thor, Vision . . . I'm not letting them stand over my bed like I did for Trick Shot and let them watch me die. It's not fair for them to see that. They can't lose another friend that way."

Bruce struggled to keep the hurt, anger, pain, and horror out of him when Clint spoke. How could the archer possibly decide such a thing? What could Bruce do that might talk him off the edge, quite literally? Bruce had faced the same thoughts once. When the Hulk became such an overwhelming part of his life that he couldn't see light on the other side, he decided to take that step toward death. The bullet he fired into the back of his throat never touched him. The Hulk chewed on the metal jacket and spit the pellet out in the snow.

If he really wanted to do something about keeping Clint from leaping into the air, Hulking out, grabbing the archer around the waist, and stealing him off the ledge became the most logical option. But what good did that serve? If Clint made this decision, he had to change his mind too. Otherwise, this one potential attempt might not be the last.

"Is JARVIS telling you how many people are on that street?" Bruce asked.

Clint didn't answer.

"Because if he isn't, or you refused to listen, then I'll tell you. There's fourteen people walking around outside the front doors. That's the direction you're facing. Three of them are kids. One is dressed like Thor. Around the corner Logan just pulled up in his truck. I guess Gambit called him. He's stalking over here like he's going to talk to you. So, Clint, if you jump right now, you are going to die in front of Logan, those kids, and their parents, and all the other people down there with cell phone cameras. You might think that Cap can cover up a thing like that, but you overestimate even his ability!" Bruce folded his arms. "Where's your gun?"

Clint's sightless eyes glanced at him. "What?"

"It's more believable if they find you shot." Bruce explained. Carefully, but forcefully, he pulled Clint off the ledge by his right arm and spun him around. The old spy's sidearm was sitting in his small holster at his ankle. Bruce knew where to find it, took it out himself, and cocked a round into the chamber. He slapped the cold steel into Clint's palm and held it there.

"Here's the story. I came up here and I found you shot in the chest. How many times is up to you. How many times can you pull the trigger before the bullets finally kill you? Can JARVIS calculate that? If you want to speed up the process, Clint, if you want to get this over with, die so fast, end this hell of a life you think you have left, then go on and do it. I'm not going to help you I'm not even going to watch you. You know why? Because you aren't an Avenger anymore. The minute you choose yourself over this team, you aren't part of this team. That's what you're doing right now, Clint. You're choosing yourself. You have no idea what this team can and cannot handle. We're willing to work until the day you die to save your life. You are the only one giving up."

Bruce pulled his hand away, leaving Clint with the loaded weapon, cocked and ready.

"I'm walking away now. Stand here and shoot yourself. I won't stop you. To me, you're already dead. You died the minute Natasha left. You died because you gave up, and the Clint I know would have fought until the grave. I don't know who you are, but you aren't that man anymore."

Bruce spun around. He strode across the roof in the direction of the staircase. His mind played a cruel trick on him, echoing the sounds of gunshots from times passed as if they were happening in the present. Clint had all the opportunity in the world to take his life. He could have jumped without waiting for Bruce, he might even shoot himself while the doctor's back turned. A calculated risk. Bruce could only hope, Clint came to his senses and didn't pull the trigger.

:(:):(:):

"It's your fault he took off in the first place! Where did you run off to? The minute he finds out he's going blind and you left him high and dry!"

"I told you, I was on a mission. I didn't have time to tell him where. It was better that way!"

"Like Hell it was! You haven't had to sit on your hands while the guy shattered!"

The front door to the Avengers Mansion thrust open under the force of Logan's boot. The twin oak panels reverberated off the walls with a colossal _slam! _He didn't bother to shut them again, let the whole world watch as Natasha Romanov decided to wander her way back into Avengers' life after leaving their most damaged member in the dust. Logan lit into her with every step.

"He ran off for over a month, probably to find you. What's wrong with you? He needed you here, not tending to your own emotional baggage!" Logan shouted.

"I wasn't dealing with my issues, I was dealing with his! And if you don't want me to put an electrocuff through your neck, I suggest you back off."

Logan extracted one hand of adamantium claws and brandished them between his body and hers. "Bring it on, toots."

"Widow, where have you gone?!" Thor exclaimed as she approached with Logan in hot pursuit of her. One glance told him that she'd most likely been off world. Her clothes were peculiar, alien, and had a vague resemblance to something in Gamora's wardrobe rather than her own. This couldn't possibly be, for Gamora had spent the time since before Fight Night assisting in Drax and Star-Lord's release.

"Barton needed you, his condition has only worsened, and moreover he has left the team only to return just today." T'Challa informed her.

"That isn't even half of it." Gambit whispered. Though Clint left New Orleans more than three weeks ago, the Cajun would not soon forget the deep pain he hid throughout their time together. Louder he said, "You've got more than just a lover's quarrel goin' on in there, Cheri." Gambit indicating Steve's closed office door. The sound of Tony and Steve's escalating shouting match was clearly audible. The way they went at it, sooner or later one would start storming out into the crowd of onlookers. Talk between the superheroes had dropped to a minimum. Everyone wanted to know what the outcome of Stark's rage resulted in.

"What's happening?" Natasha demanded.

"You'd know if you were here." Spider Man said with a bitter edge in his voice. Clint personally vouched for his full time membership to the team. He was loyal to the archer over Natasha any day.

"Iron Man considers leaving the Avengers if his demand that Hawkeye not be expelled is not met." Vision answered.

"Steve's kicking him out?!"

"That is what they discuss."

Natasha rolled her eyes, shoving the door open as the others scrambled out of view. No one wanted to be seen as an eavesdropper. Expect Vision, of course, who stood just behind Natasha wondering why the others had abandoned him. For a moment, Steve and Tony's fury shot invisible daggers across the room at the person who would DARE interrupt the heated testosterone battle. Finding, however, that it was Natasha who made herself known all the harsh words they once flung at each other now struck her all at once. When their accusations, stomping, pounding, throwing mad tantrums ceased at last, Natasha finally got out what she'd come so far to say.

"Would the both of you shut up for like two minutes?! I found Clint a cure."

:(:):(:):

"W—wait." Clint whispered.

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. He paused by the door handle. His hand was shaking and when he looked back at Barton he saw the archer was too. Clint carefully slid open the chamber of his weapon, dislodged the bullet, and dropped it onto the roof tiles. His hands quaked too much to dismantle even the cartridge. Bruce returned to him and took the weapon away. Clint rocked back against the parapet and slid down until he sat. The doctor kneeled in front of him.

"It's going to be all right, now, ok? Please don't give up on us. I'd never give up on you either, Clint. You are one of us. I know you're terrified. I can't imagine what you're feeling, but you've got to let us be with you. Please, don't take this away from us. You're our family. We need to be able to say goodbye. Please." Bruce leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Clint's. They had so little time left together. Moments like this had to be held onto, treasured, and never forgotten.

Clint normally pulled away, brushed off tender moments as if they were nothing. Not today. Today he remained in Bruce's embrace as he tried to put the pieces of his shattered mind back together. "I would have done it. Bruce, I would have done it."

"I know but you didn't."

"It hurts. My entire abdomen feels like someone's been running knives through me. I can't stand it. Every time I eat its killing me."

Bruce's jaw clenched, he still didn't let go. He knew Clint had been hiding something from him. "We'll do something for that. I'll find something that'll take it away. You'll be comfortable." That last word tasted bitter in his mouth. Was this their state now? Was he going to be Clint's hospice?

"I don't want to be in a hospital bed. If I have to die, if I have to wait for this thing to kill me, then I want to be home."

"Whatever you want. I won't let them take you away." Bruce nodded frantically. This was happening. They were finally having the conversation he always dreaded. While Clint remained conscious, aware, and not doped on pain medications, Bruce listened to his last requests. The very idea of it made him want to run away himself.

"Don't let me die like Trick Shot."

The door to the stairwell pushed open. Bruce knew he didn't have long before the others showed up to see Clint. They were lucky he had as much time alone with the archer already. Before turning to see them, he pulled away from Barton, scrubbed a hand into the corners of his eyes to hide the shed tears, and slid Clint's gun into his own pocket. No one had to know what came so close to happening.

"Natasha!" Bruce cried on seeing the woman.

Clint lifted his head, waiting for JARVIS's confirmation in his ear. The AI had no time, for the moment Bruce exclaimed, she was already on her knees with Clint's neck tightly wrapped in her arms. The archer couldn't believe it. He sat, flabbergasted, as he held her against himself. One hand reached up to touch her hair. It felt the same. She smelled the same. Was this real?

"Tasha?" He asked, doubting his own senses.

"I'm sorry! Clint, I'm so sorry! I just couldn't give it up. I didn't want to tell you, to give you some false hope. I was afraid you might be too sick to come with me." She pulled away as far as his arms would allow, which was no great distance. "Thor gave me the idea. He didn't mean to, he just said it one day and it stuck with me ever since."

"Natasha, what are you talking about?" Bruce asked, he looked over to the pale, confused faces of Steve, Tony, Thor, and all the others. "What's she talking about?"

With Black Widow's look of encouragement aimed his way, Thor decided it was he who should explain her rational.

"What Lady Widow refers to is an ancient race, formed from the time before even the Celestials came to existence. Rumored to be the most advanced creatures of the universe. Often, in times of peril, one may call the name of such creature in hopes of receiving a length to one's life, or cure to those things which ail. They are known as Sarhorns. Their ruling body, seven members in total, are called the Sarhorn Flegneks. I sought them out once, in my youth, when I assumed that Clint of Barton and the Man of Iron had been felled by barsnipes. I did not find them."

Clint vaguely remembered that time. Tony and he both came down with a bad case of the flu. Thor, recently arrived from a trip to Asgard, had assumed that a much fouler illness infected the friends and set out to cure them by any means necessary. He mentioned appealing to the Sarhorn Flegneks for that cure, and disappeared to complete his task. By the time he returned, nearly two weeks later, both were recovering from the flu already and he had failed to find any Sarhorns.

"But I did find them." Natasha took over. "Star-Lord agreed to help me. Drax, Gamora, and he all piloted while Rocket and Groot stayed behind to keep an eye on you. When they came back and said you'd gone blind we tried harder. Eventually, passed the edge of the southern universe, we did find one of the Sarhorns. I begged, Peter begged, and Drax threatened to fold the Sarhorn in half, but we got you an audience. They want to meet you, Clint. They have the strength to cure you but they want to prove that you deserve it."

She stood, dragging the stunned-silent Clint to his feet. "They won't wait long. We have to go now. Peter's in the ship revving the engines. We don't have any time to lose."

Clint resisted her tug on his arm. The shades of his glasses passed around those waiting to whisk him away. "Is this really happening?" He asked.

"The Sarhorns are not patient, my friend. You must leave now." Thor said gently.

"It's the best, the only, shot we have." Tony said.

"I . . . Can, can everyone give me a sec? I just need to talk to Bruce. Alone. It will only take a minute."

Curious, jealous looks fell on the doctor, who ignored them all. Nothing could be denied to the blind archer at this point. Even Natasha leaned over, whispered her quiet encouragements into his ear, and followed the others back down the stairs. Soon a fight would break out as to just who might join the escapade to cure Clint's vision. Thor was a natural choice. Tony, Steve, and Logan might not take no for an answer. Who would watch over the Mansion, heed the call of duty, and coordinate the lesser heroes? These were minor challenges that had to be solved immediately.

When they were alone again, Bruce wrapped Clint's shoulders in his arms. "I told you not to give up on us, Clint!"

Clint fell against him. The energy rushed out of his body like a flood. "It can't be true, can it?"

"You're going to be all right. Those Sarhorns don't know what's coming to them, Clint, you understand that? You deserve this! You have the right to live just as much as anyone else. You believe that, right?"

Clint pulled away, nodding. "Yeah, I do. I got it. Thank you, Bruce. Y'know . . ."

Bruce refused to get choked up one more time, but Barton made that incredibly difficult for him. "None of us will ever give up on you. So you can't either. That's our deal. Look, I need to run into town and get you a prescription for the pain. I don't know how long this trip to the Sarhorns is going to take, but it may be a while before we're back. I want you to feel your best when we get there. There's no reason you have to suffer through it."

"Og vienne mele." Clint replied.

Bruce's eyebrow arched. "Come again? Are you trying to be witty in Elvish?"

Barton stumbled a little over the roof tiles as they made their way back to the stairs downward. "Enelo mya kinnae."

"Clint?"

The archer listed left, attempted to catch himself by grasping the doorknob, but missed. He dropped backward. Bruce lunged to catch him, cradling the archer's body as it fell down. The doctor screamed the Clint's name, but received no response. Had Clint not been taking his meds? Had he suffered a fainting spell? Was the excitement too much for him? Bruce pulled Clint's shades from his eyes and patted his friend's face. It was then he noticed something that made his blood freeze.

Anisocoria. Clint's pupils were different shapes. The one was massive, dilated to the point where hardly a rim of his lapis iris showed. The other was normal, vacant, and distant. Neither tried to focus on him. Neither moved. A second later, the left side of Clint's face began to slowly lose its tension. From his eyebrow, eyelid, cheek, and mouth everything sequentially went limp, stretched, and stopped moving.

Hemorrhage. Infarct. Brain bleed and blood clot. Clint's brain suffered a stroke caused by one of those two deadly killer and it was impossible to know exactly which by just looking at him. What Bruce did know was Clint had taken a turn for the worse in a big way. If he didn't get him medical help, immediately, the Avenger was going to die.

"NO!" Bruce screamed. After all that had happened, talking Clint off the roof ledge, keeping him from taking his own life with a gunshot, Natasha's dramatic return, the promise of a cure on the horizon . . . now this? This ripped all of that away. Clint may never wake up. He may never get to say good bye. This could be the very moment they lost the archer forever.

"No! No! Don't do this, Clint, please! You've got to fight! Don't give up yet, we're going to save you! We're supposed to save you!" Bruce pushed the staircase door opened wider and screamed down to his friends. "HELP! Get Nightcrawler, Clint needs to get to a hospital, he had a stroke! He's dying!"

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><p><em>Annnnnndddd bring on the hate reviews. I'm ready for them!<em>

**_Next Time: Rally_**

Please review!


	7. Chapter 7 -Rally-

**A/N:** Sadness Ahead! and it's a LONG one!

**Shout Outs**: To those wonderful readers I've discovered who gave me lovely shout outs on their own stories and profile pages. You guys are awesome!

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><p><strong>Chapter 7 –Rally—<strong>

Only Avengers were allowed in the hospital room. That was a stipulation from years before when New York General became the fall ground of many injured heroes. As most had no family to speak of, the hospital staff had to devise a way to keep the chaos controlled, the right parties in the room, and the wrong ones out. Back then groups of world defenders were only loosely tied together by friendships, brotherhoods, or common interests. When one person fell, it became nearly impossible to be at their bedside. In a way, New York General had a hand on forming every collective superhero squad in the world. Their example passed to the hands of many other mutant or powered beings across the globe. If you wanted to see Spider-Man, you had to show an Avengers card. Wolverine? X-Men I.D., please, and so on. Even loosely knit pockets of vigilantes began to band together, making themselves stronger, on the precaution of having the ability to take care of one another should the worst happen.

Hospitals had a policy of discretion when it came to all heroes, but especially to the Avengers. Keeping the press out became more and more of a challenge the higher the profile of Earth defender. It wasn't easy hiding the fact that almost every Avenger was off duty and only Vision was manning the Mansion.

Spider-Man leaned in a coveted corner of the wall, just above T'Challa's head. The wall crawler made it a little easier on the general small space to stay up and out of everyone's way. Thor leaned on the window sill next to Panther. Bruce sat in one of the few chairs with Steve standing above him and Pym in the second chair. Natasha was beside Clint's bed, her hand stroking the little patch of skin not covered in electrodes, tubes, and wires. Tony sat on the floor on Clint's opposite side. He hadn't moved or spoken since he took the spot.

Their heads swiveled to the door as Dr. Castillo walked in. She smiled a little at them, then turned and shut the door. "Hello, everyone."

Steve, always the leader in times such as this, leaned forward and shook her hand. "Dr. Castillo. I'd like to say it's a pleasure, but…"

She waved her hand. "I know, Steve. I've been down this road with your lot a few times. It never gets an easier on me either. As long as I've been your doctor, I think in some way we are friends. I don't like what I'm going to have to say to you."

Steve retracted his hand. He clasped both behind his back tight enough to let the fingers go numb. He thought he'd prepared himself for the worst. The entire room seemed to take a collective breath all at once.

Castillo never minced words, or let things settle in easy. She was an expert on superhuman physiology but occasionally dropped out of her realm to deal with the mere normal humans she considered worth her time. Clint Barton had been her patient for years. She'd been made aware of his brain tumor, but little beside that, and had no knowledge of its progression, until he appeared in her hospital ward hours before. Banner dropped in with Nightcrawler's help, and issued orders like the trained neurosurgeon he was. He would have scrubbed in on Clint's emergency treatment too, if Castillo let him. But she could see at once he was too emotional to be trusted with something as delicate as brain surgery.

"The first thing I want to ask is how much everyone already knows about Clint's condition." Castillo started with. She'd been around the archer long enough to know his propensity to hide the worst of his ails. Even she'd been shocked when the MRI showed his diffuse metastatic cancer.

Pym answered. "Meningioma grade 2. Took his vision out almost two months ago. He said it's been in there a while. I found," Pym stood, and handed over the bag he'd brought with him from the Mansion. "these in his car. Refill slip indicates he's been taking them but not regularly. Anti-epileptics, hypertensives—"

Castillo nodded, took the bag with a sad smile, and set it aside. "Yes. That's right. Has he told you anything else?"

Natasha shrugged. "What else is there to tell? When are you going to say he's waking up? Why did you put him in a coma?"

"Tasha…" Bruce whispered.

Her head spun toward him, red hair swaying around her shoulders. "What?! What use is all this lead in? Every minute we waste here, Clint risks missing his chance at the cure."

"He told me, doctor." Bruce admitted. He sat back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. If he didn't Hulk out by the end of the day, he'd be shocked.

"Told you what? Someone better start saying something!" She demanded.

Castillo reached over and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I want all of you to know that." She took Clint's file from under her arm and began to flip through some of the pages. She didn't exactly need to refresh the things she'd found, but it gave her a place to focus her attention that didn't include the crestfallen faces warily waiting for the ax to fall.

"Hawkeye has a grade 2 Meningioma in his frontal lobe which is working to compress the normal structures in his brain. His hearing went first, but that was missed because he already has a compensation for it. He has had four seizures that we know of, lost consciousness six times, and has been taking five prescriptions to manage the tumor growth and its side effects." She glanced up briefly over the rim of her reading glasses. Apparently many of the things she'd said they had no awareness of. Years ago Clint had given her proxy to share his in depth records with any active Avengers member. Often times he avoided her for patient care just for that reason. "I'm sorry if any of this is news to you, but this is Hawkeye we're dealing with.

With that disclaimer, she returned her focus to the file and read, "Hawkeye has Stage 4 adenocarcinoma. That's a type of invasive cancer that, we assume, began in his stomach and has since spread to his liver, small intestines, esophagus, and spleen."

"What lies are these?!" Thor cried.

Steve felt his knees about to give out. He grabbed the end of the bed to prevent falling over. Tony's head dropped into his hands as his shoulders shook.

"There has to be a mistake!" Peter exclaimed.

"We knew nothing of this!" T'Challa added.

Castillo let their surprise set in. She had no doubt in her mind Clint had hidden this from them. After letting them settle again, she went on. "This cancer comes and spreads fast. It's possible that the finding was incidental after discovering the melanoma in his brain."

Hank sat after handing her the bag of medication, but could do so no longer. He paced in front of Thor and T'Challa who shoved him to the side. They waited for the doctor to profess this was all some sick, twisted prank on the part of their friend. But her expression never changed.

"The reason you are here right now, is one of those cancers created a condition known as DIC or disseminated intravascular coagulopathy. This condition has caused thousands of small clots to form throughout his body and at the same time can result in massive hemorrhages. As the blood flow to Hawkeye's brain has already been put in jeopardy by the growth of the tumor, it was this location that clotted. We have attempted to dissolve it with 70% success."

She took a breath, closed the file, and raised her eyes. "One side of Clint's brain lacked adequate blood flow for forty-three minutes. At this point, 30% of it still is not adequately perfused. After running multiple tests, we've determined that part of his brain has completely lost function."

Peter lost his grip on the wall and landed on his feet. He collapsed into the corner. Hank fell back into his chair. Tony, still, rocked on the floor beside Clint's left hand and spoke to no one.

"He's brain dead. That's what you're trying to tell us? That Clint is brain dead, right?" Rogers asked.

"Some parts of his brain are still showing small signs of activity. Because of the spread of his carcinoma, the rate of growth of the meningioma in his brain, and his current loss in function, I'm sorry to say that Hawkeye's prognosis in this case very grave."

Natasha crumbled back against the wall. Her face remained as emotionless as a granite statue. A hurt, a rage she couldn't even fathom ground against her bones. "You **_knew_** about this?" She snarled at Banner.

Bruce couldn't help his nonchalance. "Should you be surprised? Clint only ever told me those things, no one else." He couldn't see Tony's face. The billionaire refused to look at anything beside the useless hands in his own lap. "If everyone knew Clint was really dying, not just going blind, he thought they might just give up on him. He wanted to give us all something to do. Find a cure. Help him. Fix him. He knew I would kill myself in the lab with Stark to do just that. That's why he told me."

His attention returned to Natasha. "He didn't know why you left. He wanted to tell you, but he couldn't. He thought he might never be able to before it was too late. He left us to find you and he left us to give Tony and Logan something to do. They couldn't cure him and if they tried too hard, they might have even found out the secret he tried so hard to hide from us. So him leaving was his way of giving all of us exactly what we needed." Bruce looked at the Captain. "For once you couldn't make up your mind. Clint knew he was off the team, Cap, he's not an idiot. He didn't even tell _me_ he'd actually had a seizure, let alone four. He called and checked in with me the same way he called you. I tried to convince him to come home. Eventually he agreed."

Banner lastly looked at the doctor. "He was in a lot of pain from the stomach cancer. He didn't want to be in pain. He didn't want to be in a hospital. He knew he was going to die and he requested, if he had to die like this, to be at home in his own bed."

"He's still very touch and go right now. If he becomes stable enough to move, we will. I suggest taking him by a portal to minimize time but nothing too strenuous. He's not in any pain now." Castillo looked at the others. "I'm so sorry. I wish this news was different. Are there any questions you have for me?"

No one spoke. They were too absorbed in the shock to speak. Castillo stood, waiting, making sure that nothing she said held the slightest loss of clarity. Bringing news of this caliber to the ears of an Avenger was one of the rarest things she'd ever been asked to do as an expert in metahuman physiology and care. Since their inception, the Avengers had lost only three active members. Of those three, a single death resulted and that belonged to Scarlett Witch. Castillo hadn't been the expert brought in on that case. She didn't deliver the news that an Avenger had been killed. She never envied the person that held the task.

She had faced Iron Man and told him that he very likely would never move or feel any sensation from his neck down for the rest of his natural life. She was even there to patch up Clint's leg after he accidentally ended up shot trying to prevent Tony from killing himself. She witnessed the absolute, all-encompassing depression of the team when that news hit them. And then Castillo assisted in Tony Stark's remarkable recovery. This, however, was so much more. For everything the Avengers could do, for all the lives they had saved, this one life was virtually over. All they waited for now was Clint to take his final breath and leave this world for whatever lay beyond.

"Is that all, doctor?" Steve asked. She could see how desperately Captain America tried to keep it all together, for the very sake of his team. If he unraveled, the snowball effect would be catastrophic.

"Actually, Cap, there are a lot of people downstairs asking my staff too many questions. I think it might be a good idea if you said, even a few words, to them. When you're ready." Dr. Castillo touched his shoulder again as she turned for the door and slipped out.

Steve continued to absorb it all for a few moments longer. It wasn't possible and it didn't seem right that Clint had been hit so hard, so fast, and literally ripped out of their hands when a cure had been on the horizon. Now they had nothing. They couldn't even speak to him. Steve never did give him a decision either. He procrastinated like a pro and that conversation where Clint threw everything he'd ever done for the Captain right back in his face might be the last talk they ever had.

"I guess we shouldn't be surprised someone told the press." He said quietly. He pushed off the end of the bed and headed for the door. He'd talk to them himself, let the rest of the team have a chance to speak and console each other without him hovering.

As he walked out, Tony's first spoken words put a dagger through his heart.

"I never got to say goodbye."

:(:):(:):

Steve wondered what he could possibly hope to say. He'd never prepared a speech like this before, so he couldn't fall back on some old lines he'd repeated four or five times throughout the past. This was cold, raw facts that chiseled him up inside. It tore at him to know the truth, the real truth, of what Clint suffered through on his own. He once hated how bottled the Avenger kept his true problems, but after years of trying to change him, Steve had simply given up. Barton was always going to hide no matter what the others tried to say.

Steve didn't want to be the leader, not when times like this came. He wished there was someone else he could turn to and pass the buck like the others could. That reason, though, was why Steve remained the leader. No one else wanted to do the things he'd been called on to do.

"Captain?"

Steve lifted his head. Some of the nurses called him over and he approached. "Yes?"

"There's too many of them out there and too few of us in here! You've got to reign them in a bit." One of them said, three others nodded.

"We understand, sir, and all of us are just so, very, sorry one of you is a patient. But its turning into bedlam!"

Steve patted the counter with his hand. "All right, all right. I'm taking care of it now. Have they set up a press booth?"

Surprised, the nurses exchanged glances.

"Press?" One asked. "Captain America, there's no press out there."

"What do you mean? If they aren't out there then who is?"

Steve waited for the nurse to send in the buzz code to unlock the sealed door way. When it opened, he met a sight that even his wildest imagination failed to create. The turnout rivaled any Fight Night Clint ever hosted. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of beings from twelve or more known systems and some Steve didn't even recognize. There were Asgardians, Light Elves, Fallen Kree, Novas, Mutants, Metas, androids, experiments, men, women, their kids and even just normal friends. The former First Lady, Martha Bishop stood with Bill and Kate. Linnor traveled all the way from Alfheimr with King Haladarrel himself at his side and the former royals Rinon, Fehreh and Doodle. Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, and Sif represented Asgard with Veurr at their side. Most, if not every, available X-Men or mutant within a four hour distance had arrived. Theirs were the faces of the oppressed and nearly slaughtered that Clint saved during the mutant registration roundup. Out of hiding, perhaps for the first time in years, they came to see him or at least show their support.

Everyone, Steve realized with a pounding pride in his chest, had come to see the human who touched lives in a way that even Barton himself never would have anticipated. Growing up as an abused child, orphaned, living the life of a circus performer, had he any idea that laying on his death bed these legions of very different races would come together to see him off one last time?

_Strong,_ Steve told himself his steadfast resolution. He had to be strong for them.

The crowd parted some to let him through. Bodies jostled against bodies. Very few even spoke. The minute he entered the very silence of his grave presence took away whatever life, or hope, remained in the room. He found a lone sofa in the waiting room. The three young mutants who shared it moved at once to let the Captain use it as a podium. It was time for a little truth telling. He was good at that.

"Everyone . . . I just want to thank you for coming. This, all of this, was very unexpected. I don't know what you've heard which brought all of you out, some from incredible distances, or how fast word has spread. I only just learned the full scope of what we're dealing with a few minutes ago from Dr. Castillo, whom many of you know personally. I wanted to speak to you myself. But to be honest, I had no idea it was Hawkeye's friends out here waiting. I thought it was just some reporters digging up a scoop. So, thank you all.

"Clint was diagnosed with a tumor in his brain which has since taken away his ability to see. Iron Man and Dr. Banner have been working to give him some semblance of normalcy since then, and have both made breakthroughs. Tony was a little too good at it and Clint actually took off on us for a bit. I'm sure he looked up a number of you and hid out in your stash houses. It's all right. If Clint isn't disappearing now and again, it would be strange."

A few people laughed but in general the mood was a nervous anticipation. Steve had yet to reach the root of the matter.

"A few hours ago, Hawkeye suffered a stroke. In addition to the tumor in his brain, he has stomach cancer. That has since spread. I know a lot of you probably want to see him, but right now he isn't stable enough. He's in a coma, some of his brain has started to die," Steve had to stop. His voice cracked and he closed his eyes, swallowed, and the room began to feel the weight of his pain. Finally he went on, "It's very likely he will never wake up."

Steve did not waited for the overwhelming wave of grief to hit before he continued on. If he didn't keep speaking, he might never finish. "There is still a chance for us to save him. Its small, but its something. My team and I are going to travel to the Mechlan stretch of the universe past Nowhere and appeal to an ancient race known as Sarhorns. They may have the ability to heal him, even now, and they have granted us an audience with their ruling party. I need someone to volunteer to take over Avengers Mansion in our absence."

A hundred hands went up at once. One group in particular stood out.

"Wolverine, you've helped us so much in the past, I have complete faith in you coordinating things in our stead."

Logan acknowledged the complement. "I'll gather a team. Don't worry, Cap." He nudged Gambit on his left who instantly nodded in acceptance. Most likely McCoy, Jean, and Morph would join them.

Cap had no intention when he walked out of the hospital room to go anywhere himself. He thought that traveling out of the galaxy to appeal to these Sarhorns was ridiculous now that Clint may die at any moment. But seeing the look in all those faces changed him instantly. He had to do this. He had to keep trying. Even as he picked Wolverine his mind worked out which Avengers would come and which would stay. This was the thing he excelled most at, and why the other teams looked to the Avengers to move first in all major battles.

"Is that understood? Anyone needing Avengers' assistance will coordinate with Wolverine through the Mansion. I would like other volunteers, one from the visiting realms and worlds to go with us and make this appeal on Hawkeye's behalf. He's still an Avenger, one of us. And he will be until the day he dies."

There was a small jostle between Fehreh, Rinon, Doodle, and Haladarrel as to which ruling body of Alfheimr should be allowed on such an expedition. As the eldest, Doodle won. The word of a seven-thousand-year-old elf trumped that of a 600-year-old any day. Fandral volunteered for Asgard, though Thor was chosen the likely candidate. Bog Thy of the Fallen Kree would represent his nation. Clint's employee and alien friend Bill elected himself for his realm, and on and on the nominations went. Steve had no idea how many they might fit into Peter's ship, but he was going to take as many as he could.

Kate pushed herself forward through the crowd of elves and Asgardians, Kree and mutants, until she stood in front of the Captain. She was holding Clint's old SHIELD bow.

"I thought he was mad at me." She said, and the room quieted to hear. "He wouldn't talk to me, I thought he was mad I took it, that I forced him to throw those darts only to miss. I didn't know, Cap."

She pulled the bow that she slipped across her chest off and held it up to him. "I thought he might want it back. To hold onto. Maybe it'll help remind him he needs to come back." Steve took the bow, stepped off his makeshift stage and pulled the girl into his arms. Kate wanted to be strong. She didn't want to cry in front of everyone and somehow managed to hold it all in. Sparing her a long time in his embrace, Steve pulled away, taking Clint's honored bow with him.

He didn't know where the heroes would go, but they were not going to leave the immediate area. Even those who'd come from worlds and realms away. The watch over Barton had started. It would only disperse with his death or his assured survival. Steve already made the split second decision about what the Avengers' next step was going to be. Now he had to take it.

Peter Quill broke through the group of onlookers and caught up to Steve before he passed through the locking doors. The nurses/hospital bouncers set on him almost instantly, but Steve vouched for the Guardian.

"Not getting too far without my boat, Cap." Peter told him.

Steve nodded. "Didn't intend leaving you behind. Where's the ship?"

" 'Cross town till about four seconds ago. I radioed Rocket to bring her around."

"We're leaving in five." Steve said.

"I'm with you."

They returned to Clint's room and already the Avengers were preparing to leave. Either they'd sent a spy to listen in on Steve's speech or they had arrived to the conclusion together. Thor, T'Challa, Natasha, and Pym were set to leave. Only Tony and Peter looked to be staying behind. Steve approached the end of Clint's bed and laid the old SHIELD bow along Clint's side. Somehow he hoped something would have changed, that Barton would be sitting up in bed smiling and laughing at him. The left side of Barton's face still showed the signs of his stroke. It was possible it would never repair if he woke on his own.

Peter had been following until they reached the doorway. Hospitals on Terra spooked him till this day, and he had little reason to ever be in them. He never visited friends, for he had so few on this planet to begin with. Clint was different. They'd met rather suddenly six years before when an infinity stone was lost on a world Clint just happened to be stranded on with Stark. He facilitated the rescue of both Avengers then. Stark looked appreciably better than that time they were first introduced. He wanted to say so, but couldn't. His eyes were fixated on the empty palm of Clint's hand which rested on the white hospital sheet. A hand like that reached out to him once, and he didn't take it. A frightened child watching his mother be consumed by the same cancer, Peter had run from his responsibility as a son.

The others might not have understood why Star-Lord walked over, picked up Clint's hand, and tightened his fist around it, but that didn't matter to him. As a child he couldn't help his mother survive this disease. Grown, with a ship, a crew, and a direction, Star-Lord had that ability. He held tightly onto Clint's hand.

"I'm here." He said to the unconscious body. "I'm here, Hawk, and I don't want to go, but it's goin' to save you. You hold on till then. Don't get some stupid idea about dyin'. A lot of people are out there because of you. You've got one job. Don't screw up."

The words were crass and full of emotion. Star-Lord was not the most elegant Guardian of the Galaxy, but somehow he managed to voice exactly what everyone was thinking. Squeezing Clint's hand again, as if unwilling to leave until the archer knew full well he was there, Peter let go. He slapped the back of his hand against the side of Tony's chest the Avenger couldn't feel.

"You're staying here with him, right?" It wasn't really a question.

"I'm not leaving him." Tony agreed.

"Fine. Well I've got thirty-five aliens out there ready to invade my ship and what? Four of you? What's the numbers, Cap?"

Steve looked around again. "Bruce, Natasha, Thor, and T'Challa."

"You coming?"

"I'm coming." Steve affirmed. "I owe that to him."

"Space is going to be tight, so everyone get cozy." Peter's com signaled him. He tapped the collapsed helmet pin beside his ear and listened for a moment. He confirmed something with the speaker, and looked up. "Rocket's in position. We're burning fuel and the next charge station isn't until Vega. Let's get moving."

The door was already open, but the Avengers did not expect anyone else to come in. But someone did enter. He was a tall man, rivaling Thor's height, with a sharp sloped nose that ended in an Elvish point and thin pink lips. Dark curly locks of hair were trapped beneath the hood of his blood red sweatshirt.

"I'm sorry, this room is private." Steve told him.

The gentleman's chocolate irises crossed to him with a mixture of curiosity and detachment. "That is an interesting concept. Privacy."

Star-Lord cocked his head back. "Did you take classes from Drax or something? Who are you supposed to be? Red Riding Hood or the latest boy band?"

"Neither." The man replied. He walked in a little more and glanced at the form in the bed. "He is not much to look at. All this fuss being made of him. I suppose everyone has a reason to live."

"Look, I don't know who you think you are, but I just found out my brother is going to die!" Tony exclaimed. He'd been internalizing all of his rage, pain, and hate until this moment. The man had just walked into the virtual firing line of Tony's emotion.

"Is that really such a terrible thing?" the man asked him.

Iron Man reached forward, placed his arm on Star-Lord's chest, and shoved the Guardian out of his way. Tony stood only inches from the newcomer. "I don't know who the hell you think you are—"

"Tsk, tsk. You should not curse. Especially over such a place. If you knew who I was, you may not use such a language with me."

"Enlighten me then!" Tony shouted.

The man reached forward and before Tony could think to pull back. The skin of the man's hand brushed the side of the Avenger's face. A weight like the Hulk's fist dropped out of the sky and slammed Stark into the floor. He hit the tile with a crash. Quill reached down to help him, but the strange new man held out a hand and Star-Lord stopped instantly. Beneath him, Tony held his head between his palms and writhed along the floor in silent agony. Whatever the man had done, it robbed Tony of his voice.

Natasha drew her gun. T'Challa dropped into a fighting crouch. Peter clung to the ceiling again. Pym placed a hand to his expanding suit button along his belt. Bruce began to turn green. Steve poised at the foot on Clint's bed, ready to defend the dying Avenger. Only Thor seemed to understand what the others could not. Terrified, exhilarated, and even hopeful, the Asgardian pushed to the front of his friends and dropped to one knee. His cape floated down around him and settled along the floor.

"Forgive my friend. This has been a tragedy on us. We meant no harm, Sarhorn." Thor pleaded. "Stay your judging hand until our side may be made known."

Quill looked at the writhing Tony, then up at the man. "You're kiddin' me, right?"

When the Sarhorn's eyes turned to him, Peter lifted his palms in supplication and backed away another few steps. Taking Thor's advice, he stayed on his knees, too. He was not about to be branded as the guy who screwed the pooch on the meeting with the only cure they had. If this creature wanted to have all due courtesy, he was going to get precisely that. Thor motioned carefully to the others and slowly, they dropped their weapons and lowered into a similar pose. Even the Captain fell to his knees.

"Please—" Thor attempted to say, but the creature's hand raised and the Asgardian silenced at once.

"What did you do to Stark?" Star-Lord asked, ignoring the decorum he temporarily cared about.

"He asked to be enlightened. I have enlightened him." The Sarhorn replied judiciously. He crossed the line of kneeling Avengers and approached the side of Barton's bed. He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned down to stare at the human. "A considerable amount of fuss generated over this soul. And you traveled so great a distance to discover a single one of our race. You thought we might come in all our glory and resurrect him." The Sarhorn straightened. "I am nothing more than a messenger. Stand."

The Avengers obeyed his order. Tony came out of his fit as swiftly as he was thrown into it. Bruce stooped down and helped him up. A wildness had come over Stark like a storm. It was like watching him emerge from a fight with his adrenaline super charged.

"I know what you are!" Tony exclaimed.

"You have been given a glimpse, yes." The Sarhorn replied. "We once fully revealed ourselves, but the weight of what we truly are weighs too heavily on the hearts of mortal men. You, Tony Stark, have a particularly hard heart."

Tony was too unstable on his feet for him to stand unassisted. Bruce held onto him. Tony leaned over and whispered into his friend's ear, "I need a pen and paper. I solved the theory of relativity. And it's not E=MC squared. It's so much more complex with the entire differential of time and space factored in to the tenth power on the energy side."

Bruce couldn't decide if Tony was being serious. For both of their good he guided the genius into a chair and forced him to sit. Tony spied a pen in the doctor's pocket, stole it out, and began writing on his own hand. Bruce stuck beside him, terrified the man had lost his mind.

Ignoring Tony's hysterics, the Sarhorn returned his attention to the others. He stood very straight, as if he might be uncomfortable in the form he had taken. The skin, perhaps too tight, pulled into flawless sheen of pearly white color, not quite albino, and not quite Caucasian but somewhere in between the two.

"A man will always plead for his own life. He will beg, describe the things he has done and those things he will one day do. Even Nero, a figure I am sure originates in your shared history, begged on his knees to be spared the fate he had to come. In the end, even he fell. A man's own confession speaks little of the truth of his character. Nero swore to right his every wrong."

Steve took half a step closer to the being. "Please, I know you didn't have the chance to speak to him, but Clint Barton is one of the—"

"That was our doing."

Steve's words choked in his throat. He glanced at Clint's body, kept functioning through electrodes, fluids, heparin, and a ventilator. Part of Clint's brain was dead, and more of it continued to die. Steve's shock returned to the Sarhorn. "You _did_ this to him?"

"What we have done is a kindness."

"Kindness!" Bruce exclaimed before Quill could. "He's lying there dying! He's in a coma and you said that's a kindness?!"

The platitude of the Sarhorn's face never changed. "Three weeks from today he was going to have a traumatic brain aneurysm. You would have been just passed the Nova system then en route to Nowhere and the last location of my brother beyond that point. Clint Barton, this man you cherish, would have bled into his brain, and died slowly, painfully, in your arms before ever reaching the meeting you hoped would save him. Hastening the progress and allowing you these moments beside him _is_ benevolent, yes."

At such a revelation the team had nothing to say. Did this creature possess the ability to come and go as he pleased? To quicken death in their friend? Had he the ability to create a systemic illness perpetuated, or even caused by, the cancer Clint already had?

"What are you?" Steve asked.

"Many races, nations, and creeds have different names for our beings. We predate the creation of man and have born from the whispers of the stars. Those things that tie you to the world, reality, do not constrain us. Much the opposite. Men once shouted to the skies to call for aid, and we would come. In modern times they believe, wholly believe, they must track us down." He gave Natasha a sidelong glance. "You need not have traveled so very far."

"He's telling the truth. All of it." Tony said. He had finished writing on his left arm, switched hands, and struggled using his left in an effort to drawl on the right arm.

The Sarhorn smiled at him. "To see into the heart of a man often one needs to look no farther than the company he keeps. In the dead of space, dying in your arms there might be any manner of words you could conjure so that support may be garnered in his name. Here, among both friends and enemies a broader picture is developed. What you ask is no small task. This gift is not given to anyone who asks. Why would you want to spare his life at all? He has lived a full one. Helped his scores of hopeless. What more could be asked of him? What more accomplished?"

Steve took over again. "Clint is the very best of us. To ask me what he could do with years more on his life is like trying to define all the things he's already done. I couldn't even tell you. None of us can. But we _can_ tell you that he will not change. I know. I've tried changing him in the past. Clint's not just a good man, he's a great one. The world still needs him. Not just this world but a lot of others too." Steve motioned toward the door and the many legions of heroes waiting out there. "Hundreds of them all showed up. Don't tell me how they knew to come, I'm guessing you had something to do with that. All of them want the same thing: Clint to live."

The speech's delivery held considerable impact, though the Sarhorn's face never changed. He was as emotionless as Tony's helmet.

"Inspiring words. Another of us sent the message across the realms. We wished to understand the true hearts of those this man touched. Would they abandon him in his worst moment? Would they sense the impending death and rally to him? Most did the latter. Few could not bring themselves here for the pain weighed upon them too great. Death is such a finite thing. To cross its edge means something different to so many. Who can understand the depth of what death means to a man? Is it a release from a prison that life creates? A hell of suffering for one's past sins? Heaven?"

Tony snickered once. He couldn't help himself. The man finished writing on his second arm and having no more available skin of his own took Banner's offered left arm and used that instead. Bruce, convinced now Tony had gone crazy, was torn between trying to placate him and pleading for Clint's very life.

Tony said as he continued to write, "We all know who you are and what you're here for. Making suppositions of the superfluous understandings of modern man in comparison to the current knowledge you possess from the foundations of the universe itself is just such a juxtaposition to subject us to."

Some of his teammates looked at the Avenger, wondering what possibly happened to him.

The Sarhorn smiled. "That is true. Have you finished the seventh quadrangle, Anthony Stark?"

"I'm on the fourth. Don't take this away until the sixth, at the least, please." Tony replied.

The Sarhorn agreed. "Clint wished with everything in his being that his friends would not suffer for his sake. Pain is to be expected when a loved one dies. Not all of it can be mitigated away, though it can be lessened. It is better he not be part of what we discuss." He took his hands from behind his back and clasped them in front of his shirt. "You would have his life spared this day, but I would wish you to understand the full scope of what you expect. Saving his life may postpone the anguish of loss for now, however, your decision may change if you understand events to come. Are you ready to choose?"

"We want Clint to live." Natasha answered instantly. There existed no waiver in her voice, no doubt, no second guesses.

The Sarhorn first turned to her. "To live this day? To be cured of his ails and to return to his normal life again?"

She nodded, tears in her eyes. "All of it, yes. That's what we want. If you want something from us. If you want a trade, or—"

He waved his hand. "Nothing of the sort is ever necessary. If he lives today, then he will die seven years from now."

Natasha's body quaked as if she'd been hit by a physical blow.

"He will be thrown into a dark pit and will fall forty feet, shattering both his legs." The Sarhorn continued to her, and the rest of the team's, growing horror. "Within that pit are all manner of night's monsters. He will die there, painfully and alone. Knowing this lies before him, do you still wish that he be saved the peace he currently has?"

Her sharp gaze turned on the Sarhorn. "That's not fair."

"You wish to save a man who has fulfilled his own life. All the facts must be presented to you." The Sarhorn replied. "What is your answer?"

"Save him." She said. Seven years to have Clint back. Seven years to stop the fate that may befall him. Natasha could work with that.

Now the question fell to the next Avenger in line, Peter Parker. "These creatures do not kill outright those unfortunate enough to be trapped in their grasp. He will die slowly, as each piece of him is torn away from each other until nothing remains that could identify him."

"You can't be serious!" Parker exclaimed.

"He can't lie. None of them can lie. They aren't designed to." Tony announced.

"Save him." Parker said.

The Sarhorn's gaze fell on T'Challa. Understanding the basis of this line of reasoning now, the Panther thought of his answer already. He waited to see what more of the story may come. He could not have prepared himself for the words.

"T'Challa, you will be faced with a choice. To save the woman you love, or to save this man. If you were not blinded by your own needs you might have saved both, but you do not. It will be you they blame for his death, for your failure, and you will live the rest of your days with the shadow of his soul hovering over your own. Would you still save him now to face that future?"

Everyone privately wished for the same answer to leave T'Challa's lips that had already been produced by Natasha and Peter both. The Wakanda leader did not take his decision lightly. Affecting Clint's future alone was one thing, altering that of his own took the matter to an entirely different level. How long would he survive under the hatred of his fellow Avengers for failing to save Clint?

"Yes. I would save him now." T'Challa said after a time. His voice, though, showed the reservation surely invading his bones.

To Pym, the Sarhorn said, "Your childlike manipulation of an infinity stone creates the catalyst for which all of these events arise."

Pym, still, elected to save him.

To Thor, "Your friends believe they do honor to this man by setting in his future a time of utter horror. He will be bent beneath the oppression of a mismanaged mission. Watch the betrayal of a close friend who leaves him just swiftly enough to be Clint Barton's last sight in the world. He will suffer extreme agony before the beasts he cannot even see through the darkness of the pit tear him apart. You will be laughing when he is screaming your name, and too consumed in your own small victories to heed his cries."

Thor scrubbed his hand over his face. He had to turn away. "Such words you speak. Such evil to destroy our very future and rip from us the friend we have attempted on all of our lives to protect and you ask of us to choose the better death! I confess I cannot! I would not rather watch him die in this bed or at the hands of ravaging creatures! Neither. Neither and I cannot be forced to choose which!"

"It's not a choice." Tony said. He dropped his pen, it had run out of ink, and stepped between the others to stand in front of the Sarhorn. "You don't get to choose it. We get to live through it. Things are already in motion, aren't they? Besides, you don't make any of the decisions. You're just the messenger, right? Why did you let me see that?"

The Sarhorn shrugged. To Stark, who could now see the very essence of what the man was, the human motion seemed so bizarre.

"You must see the things you do not comprehend. Touch them, feel them, solve the problems you will never grasp. Everyone requires something different to survive in their existence, Anthony Stark. You require sight. Have you finished the seventh quadrangle?"

"I finished the twelfth." Tony admitted. He looked physically exhausted. "Save him." He added, a look of pleading desperation in his eyes.

"You must not lose that knowledge. Keep it close. It means the very survival of your entire race." The Sarhorn touched Tony's face again and, almost relieved, the Avenger waited for the swell of information to pass out of him. Releasing that strange broader understand of the universe, the opening of his eyes to worlds, information, and the truth of theory based understandings threatened to completely fry his brain cells. Much longer, and Tony thought he might just collapse. Thor caught him when his knees went weak and guided him back into a chair. Bruce placed a hand along the hanging marks of Tony's neck and carefully massaged where the pain hit him worst.

Bruce asked, "Will he have a good life? Until then, until the moment he has to die in the most horrible way any man can be asked? Will he be happy before that happens?" As he said it, some of the others felt a little guilt over not thinking about the idea themselves.

"As happy as any man in his position can be. This is not an easy life he has chosen. It is filled in loss, pain, and occasionally victory. Some of those around will live to see a thousand years pass before they meet their end. He will always be the first among you to release his soul. This does not change that. He is trapped in a mortal body and one day you must face the reality that he will die."

"But until he does…"

"He will have times of joy." The Sarhorn said.

Bruce nodded as if that was the only news that mattered to him. "I guess that's all we can hope for. Save him, then, please. Please."

Only Steve Rogers and Peter Quill remained.

Quill shrugged. "Hell, Save the guy. None of us are gonna live forever, right? I'm not gonna be the guy that rocked the boat. All this feely stuff isn't my thing."

Steve hit him and Quill folded over with an exhalation.

"I am well aware." Lastly the Sarhorn's gaze fell on the Captain of the group. He saved him for the end specifically. He had all the information he needed, and more. And still the Sarhorn felt that to understand just the type of decision they were making, Steve must have every fact. Even before the Sarhorn offered the information, Steve requested the details. Why did Clint have to die in that abandoned cave? Away from his friends, those he loved, and alone? Why was he going to suffer the cruelest of fates? Before Steve could ever agree to lose Clint's life, he must know.

The Sarhorn gave him the facts. He explained how a war was coming that would encompass every system, trillions of souls, and nearly every hero the universe had to offer. Lives were going to be lost. Friends left in the dust never to reawaken. Innocents would flee in planetary evacuations from the coming onslaught and it was there that Clint found himself. Set in the epicenter of the destruction, he rushed to the protection of twenty billion men, women, and children that could not escape their world destroyer fast enough. The evacuation was going to fail. The only thing that could save all of those lives was a single, perfect shot from the universe's one greatest marksman. Nothing convinces Clint to stop. He determined to save those souls, even knowing that what he must do would mean his own demise. T'Challa's wife and child are among those that may die without Clint's aid. Barton set out to save them. Natasha would be on that planet, trying to evacuate the masses. Saving her meant saving himself. Steve might stop him, but he will not.

"In dying, Clint Barton will spare the lives of twenty billion. This is his trade. That is the choice he will make." The Sarhorn ended.

"What if he doesn't? Why can't I go instead? Why must it be Clint?" Steve asked.

"Clint Barton will always enter that pit over you so long as he is alive. You see, I have not come to this place to save _him_. But to save _you_, Captain Steve Rogers. Understand that to save Clint today means to save yourself. To curse his future to that death that many will honor as the greatest victory this galaxy will ever know. It is also the greatest sacrifice. That sacrifice should be yours. If he is saved now from his death bed, he will take on himself the death that should be yours by right. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I can't allow him to die for me." Steve said instantly. He felt as taught as Clint's bowstring. What sort of choices were these? Everyone wanted to save Clint, to cure him of his cancer, to bring him back to them. They accepted that he would one day die. Even Barton would understand that. What Steve could not, wholeheartedly could not, reconcile was that such a thing might simply be to prevent Steve's own life from being extinguished.

"If Clint Barton is allowed to die now, this day, it will be you who saves those people." The Sarhorn said.

"Then I'll save them. I'm not letting him do that if I can." Steve said.

"Then Clint Barton will die now."

Natasha uttered a strangled cry. The others too, could not wholly voice their own horror at the idea. After everything they'd been asked, tortured over, and discovered, how could they then ask one more thing of Steve? Their Captain was in place to make those decisions no one else could. Those that meant the very sacrifice of his friends if the need came. He chose to close the Chitauri portal, knowing Tony may not make it through and live. He nearly chose to remove Clint's arm so that he might save the archer's life. He laid on landmines and bombs, took bullets and killed men, all to save the very people he cared about. To ask the Sarhorn to save Clint Barton merely because they didn't want to face losing him just yet, was selfish of them. Clint may die with hope in his heart. He wasn't suffering any longer. He would die in his sleep and that would be it.

"No." Steve said again, shaking his head. "I'm sorry you've come this way for nothing. I won't let Clint do that. I won't ever let him fall on another sword for this team. He's done it too much for us. He's spent his entire life living for us. I will not let him be torn to pieces by animals just because I can't bear the thought of losing him now."

"Steve . . ." Tony whispered, but had nothing more to say.

"If it's supposed to be my sacrifice let it be mine. Only mine."

"You would rather take his death upon yourself, despite the seven good years you will have in the meantime? He would save all of them. You would hardly spare a quarter of that. You would sacrifice lives to spare his suffering over your own."

"I would die in a pit a thousand times to make up for what Clint's done for me, for this team, his entire life." Steve said resolutely. "And I will spend our time till then learning everything Clint's passed on to others. Maybe I will be a fraction of what he is. I might even be able to make that shot only he can. I have time to do it. No, I don't want to save him for that. I'd rather lose him now, peacefully, quietly."

The Sarhorn smiled, and nodded. "That is what we expected. I am sorry this challenge has arrived at your door, but understand that a gift of this nature must be fully understood and rationalized. There is nothing that Clint Barton can do to deserve it. There is nothing any of you can do. That is the nature of a gift. One does not pay money for it, beg for it, or steal it. A true gift is given without justification. Clint Barton is a man who would continue to use his life for the good of others, and there is much good left in him."

The ancient being's eyes closed briefly. It was then they realized he hadn't even blinked before. When they opened, he began to head for the door. "I have been summoned back again. Work rarely ceases, yet when it is good work, how can one not find pleasure in it? Your friend will live to do great things. You may tell him yourself when he awakens."

"But, you haven't even touched him!" Steve exclaimed. "And what about his future? I don't want Clint dying like that for us! I would never want that!"

The Sarhorn paused briefly by the doorway. "Clint Barton was healed before I ever entered the room. I told you, I am only a messenger, nothing more." With those stunning words, he walked out again.

Whereas the others were left in their mixture of pure misery, overwhelming relief, and distrust over his words, Star-Lord rallied at once. He chased after the being, shouting along the way to make him stop.

The Sarhorn paused, allowing Quill to stand before him.

"All that you just said in there? It's not going to happen is it? I mean, we can change it, can't we?" Peter asked desperately.

"Peter Quill, Star Lord, your father was—"

"Leave him out of this. Just tell me! We can change that. It won't happen if we know about it and stop it from happening."

The being smiled. "One's fate is never written in a stone slab. Choice is what drives it. You were given the choice of saving a man or allowing him to die. You are also given the choice to stop the events leading his death from occurring. Understand, and hear closely my words. To prevent this war from blotting out the very stars from the sky, you must make an audience with those realms who are to be affected. Alfheimr, Asgard, Blenheim, Nova . . . "

Peter searched frantically around for something to write with. He reached behind the nurse's station, where the men and women were frozen in place, perhaps since the moment the Sarhorn entered the hospital. He wrote the many names of the realms as the Sarhorn relayed them.

"You will need a representative who knows those realms well to be present. To speak to them and tell them it is time to prepare for war. You have seven Earthen years before it comes to their doors and will threaten to swallow up their entire life force."

Peter wrote as frantically as Tony had to take every word of it down. In the back of his mind he wondered how he could ever reach so many people all at once.

"Galaxies will be consumed in his need to satisfy his feeding. But his power comes not only from his being, but also from the thing which will strength to even the greatest of evils."

Peter stopped writing. The paper he wrote on crinkled into a ball in his grasp as the pen dropped, rolled, and hit the floor. He didn't need to hear the name of such a being because he already knew it. He'd already faced him and thought he'd defeated him. Worlds had died in that first battle. Billions of lives lost, galaxies were reshaped for all time.

"Galactus." Star-Lord whispered.

"He looks to control the Infinity Gauntlet." The Sarhorn said, nodding.

"He could kill everyone. Everything. He'd never stop at a few systems, he'd just blow through them all like a battering ram. If he got the Infinity Gauntlet nothing in this universe could ever stop him!" Peter could hardly believe the images his mind played out. Worlds on fire from Galactus' need to feed, consume, and destroy everything in his path. He was crazed in power and impossible to stop. Half the worlds' heroes came together so they may defeat him the first time. Many never came back from that fight.

Peter looked down at his paper, at all the people on all the worlds he must find, convince, and send off to prepare. The undertaking was massive. Seven years to complete it and to find the Infinity Gaunlet before Galactus? There wasn't enough time.

"We'll never accomplish this much. Maybe half, but these races are too spread out. There's too many places to search. It would take a universal peace conference to get even a third of these people here." Peter said looking at the Sarhorn. "This really is hopeless."

"You require a great many things. You must know where Galactus will arrive, the Black Hole of Dfusth. You need a way to contain him that will destroy the energy and mass he consumes, feeding it into a constant loop he can never escape. Tony Stark has just solved that equation. You need an audience with countless creatures who have no connection to each other or reason to ever gather." Suddenly the doors at their back flung open. Outside, the thousands who had shown up at the hospital to support Clint in his illness still stood, frozen in place.

"No reason, besides Clint Barton. Nothing, Peter Quill, is hopeless." The Sarhorn replied. "I am only a messenger. I delivered the message that Clint Barton was ill. He must be ill, near death, to warrant so many to come to see him. They must come to see him so my second message could be delivered, by you Peter Quill. There is nothing in this life done without a purpose."

The being swept his hand back, indicating the room of frozen heroes. "Go, fulfill yours."

Peter thought he'd heard everything. All the battles he'd fought, things he'd done, and friend's he'd made gave him the impression that'd he'd seen just about the craziest schemes the universe could conjure up. But this? This absolutely took the cake. His mind burst at its seems trying to wrap up all the little packages in his brain.

Clint Barton was known in every part of the universe. He'd carved a name out for himself the minute he wielded Thor's hammer in a fight against Loki and continued to establish a reputation that rivaled even Odin. He'd fought Kree, Chitauri, Shie-al, mutants, anything the planets could deign to throw at him and as a mere human he'd survived it all. When Quill first met him, it was like finding another kindred soul. That was how everyone described the archer of Midgard. Peter knew him by reputation only, a "crazy Yank from Terra who thinks a stick and a string are gonna stop a Kree warship" was how someone first described Barton. After Clint did stop that ship, and rode it into the surface of a dying world, and rescued Tony Stark, and survived until Peter happened along to save him, he finally understood why everyone held Clint Barton in such high regards.

All of those faces out there had their own Clint Barton story. All those years busting his body day in and day out culminated to this one moment. This message they all needed to hear. Clint was a catalyst at the center of an explosion.

Peter didn't realize he'd stepped into the waiting room until he was already there. He turned in place, looking for the retreating Sarhorn.

"Hey, wait! You know all of us so well, but who are you supposed to be?"

Another peculiar smile touched the Sarhorn's lips. "Many races have many names for us. You may call me Gabriel. And Peter Quill, you mother says she felt your hand in hers."

In a flash of white and blue light, the Sarhorn vanished. The doors flew shut, and the cacophony of hundreds of beings talking to one another drowned out Star-Lord's thoughts. For a time he simply stood in the center of the chaos, wondering if he ever saw the peculiar being known as the Sarhorn.

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><p><strong><em>Next Time: War<em>**

HOOOOLLLLLLYYYYY Cow! What is this war? Why have I done this to myself? Please review!


	8. Chapter 8 -War-

**A/N:** thank you so much for all the feedback on the last chapter! It's funny, I really considered deleting the entire speech by Steve because I thought it may be too much grandstanding, but everyone just loved it!

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><p>Chapter 8 –War—<p>

"If he's supposed to be cured, why hasn't he woken up yet?" Parker asked. He'd crawled across the wall until he poised over Clint's head. The machines continued to beep in time with his heart.

"It takes a bit. If he comes out of it too fast, he might freak out. I think that's why they're giving him some time." Tony told him. The billionaire leaned back and rested his head against the wall. Banner crouched beside him.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked.

"Like I just swallowed a galaxy and it all went to my head." Tony replied. He felt around for Bruce's pen and handed it back. "I need you to rewrite all of the stuff I drew before we do something stupid, like wash it off."

Bruce glanced at the symbols. He recognized the advanced mathematics, but where they began in the theory of relativity, they swiftly expanded to mathematical properties he'd never seen before. "What is all of this?"

"Our only hope at surviving the Infinity War."

Everyone looked at Tony.

"The Infinity Gauntlet's been found again?" Steve asked.

Tony shook his head. "Not yet it hasn't. But he's looking for it. He won't stop till he finds it. This," he held up his arms and displayed the precise writing. "Is the only thing that is going to contain him and stop the war Gabriel warned us about."

"Gabriel?"

Tony looked at him. "The Sarhorn's name."

"Who is coming, Tony?" Bruce whispered.

"Galactus." Quill said, entering the hospital room. "It's a shock, I know. Try to keep from puking about it. We've got seven years to arm everyone in the universe from being destroyed. If we fail, then Clint's not the only one who's going to die."

"Is that what he said?" Steve asked.

Quill nodded. "I've sent everyone away. They're going to start preparing now. There's a lot we need to do. I have the location where Galactus will be thrust back into our reality again. My job is to find the Infinity Gauntlet and hide it. Then I need to guide the armada we're creating to Galactus. Tony's job is to make the prison that will keep the wacko bottled up for all time." Quill threw the back of his hand against the unfeeling part of Tony's chest. "Right?"

Tony caught Quill's hand. He held it for a moment before letting it go. He then pressed a hand to his chest where Peter smacked him. He pinched his upper arm, leg, and moved his foot.

"I felt that." Tony said, shocked.

"No, you didn't. You cant feel anything there." Peter replied. To prove the point, he hit him a second time.

Tony forced himself to stand. "Yes I could! I felt that! I can feel my arm too! And my leg! I can feel everything!"

Bruce grabbed him, but didn't know what to do. He was simply too stunned to move.

"He's going to live then. He has to get better." Natasha said. She leaned over Barton's body again, it was difficult to get close without all the machines in her way. It was strange to think all that had happened in such a short period of time. After spending months in space, she only had a brief few seconds in Clint's company before he lost consciousness. In the rush to the hospital, the meeting with the Sarhorn, and the reveal of so much more she felt like her head was spinning in circles.

"I feel like he's going to just pop up. Pym, I think you need to get Dr. Castillo right away. If he comes to with a tube down his throat, then he might just freak out. He is going to freak out anyway, but we'll try to make this smoother." Bruce replied. "Tony, sit down before you fall there. Natasha, you got your phone? Take a picture of these equations all over us before we do rub them off and a galaxy dies because of it."

Pym headed out to track down the doctor while Tony took Bruce's advice and sat down. Suddenly he felt very old, like a man who couldn't get through the day without a nap. He might just fall asleep for the heck of it. Bruce readjusted a few of the machines to give himself better access by Clint's side. He pressed the button to lower the bed back and flatten Clint out more. His nerves were beginning to jump. At Tony's instruction, Natasha took out her cell phone and began photographing the equations.

Quill approached again and slipped his hand into Clint's. Sometimes he didn't even know he was doing it. He couldn't help himself.

"How you holding up, Quill?" Steve asked, glancing at him.

Star-Lord paused before answering him. Technically he wasn't even supposed to be in the room by hospital rules. In a way he wanted to run out again and spare himself this sick bed. Finally he returned Steve's imploring, confused look. "The last time I was in a Terran hospital someone asked me to hold their hand. I didn't and she died. So if it's all the same to you, I'm just gonna stick here for a bit."

Natasha approached and slipped her hand into Clint's free palm. She shared a look with Star-Lord but said nothing. What could a little encouragement hurt?

Peter snickered. "And seriously, Cap? This guy who thinks he's an angel just walked in here and told me about my dead mother right after he said it was my destiny to warn a thousand planets about their impending doom. How do you think I feel? Oh Crap! I forgot to tell Rocket to shut the engines down! We might be running out of gas in like, twelve minutes." He hit his comm and stepped away to argue with the genetically enhanced raccoon on the other end of the transmission.

Steve shook his head as he listened. Peter wasn't wrong. Everything seemed a little insane when he thought of it that way. Tony seemed to think he had a fully functioning sensory system again. They'd double check on that with a battery of tests no doubt. The one thing that still hadn't changed was Barton himself. Bruce looked convinced. Steve wanted to hope that everything the Sarhorn said about Barton surviving was true, but at what cost did that come to?

The heart rate began to accelerate.

"Parker, go chase Pym and get me some help in here!" Bruce shouted.

"My friend, is he all right?" Thor asked.

"I need everyone to quiet down and back away. Quill, tell Rocket to go jump in a flea bath and get off the phone. Steve, turn those lights out." Bruce instructed their movements like the conductor of an orchestra. The lights blanked out and a nervous tension filled the air. Thor and T'Challa both resisted the urge to approach and instead remained on the periphery should they be needed. Tony dragged his chair against the end of the bed and waited with everyone else.

Bruce held a hand against the side of the archer's face. "Clint, you're starting to wake up. I need you to stay calm. You're going to feel disoriented, and that's normal. You have a tube down your throat so don't thrash around."

Clint's right hand began to move, but not the left where the stroke hit him hardest. His eyes darted beneath his lids.

Bruce indicated the tray on Thor's left. "Bring that kit over here. Quill, get on this side of me and help me roll. Clint needs to be on his left side. What's keeping Castillo?!"

"Here!" she announced, rushing through the door. "Where are we at?"

"Movement, nystagmous, and non-responsive. Thor's got the crash cart by him. Is there suction in this room?" Bruce updated her.

Castillo headed to the opposite side of the bed and rearranged the emergency cart. She took a light and glanced into Clint's mouth. "He looks all right. No suction here. How are his lung sounds?"

Bruce pulled a stethoscope off the wall and placed the bulbs in his ears. He listened as Clint's chest rose and fell on its own. "Normal, no crackles. That ventilator off? He's spontaneous."

Castillo reached over and flipped a few switches on the lung machine and turned off its artificial respiration. The light from the hall blocked out once more as a third doctor entered the room. He pulled off his coat and left it on the end of the bed.

"Dr. Banner, I thought I told you to stop trying to steal my patients." The newcomer said with a smile.

"Dr. Strange, late to the party per usual."

"Well, I just got the news that Galactus is back and the entire universe is preparing for an Infinity War, so that tends to rouse even my interest." Dr. Strange replied. Beside Bruce Banner, Strange was the foremost neurosurgeon in the world, albeit it he was slightly on the eccentric side. "Besides, Hawkeye may be your friend, but he was my neurological patient first."

"Only because I happened to be away at the time." Bruce jabbed.

"Men, please. You may fight over your duel intelligence when this crisis has passed." Castillo called the room to order the way a judge might preside over a pair of attorneys.

All at once their jests came to a fast end. Clint had been rolled onto his left side to help him recover. He bucked very suddenly. They'd seen him rouse from anesthesia in the past and each time he burst to life as if coming up for air after a deep dive. All three of the doctors were well aware of this trait and the second he showed signs of coming around they swiftly pulled the tube from his throat and laid on him to prevent his thrashing around. Clint also had a tendency to panic when he felt random people holding him down. The tradeoff was imperfect, but necessary.

"Quiet, Clint, you're safe. You're in a hospital." Bruce took over lead while the other two checked his vitals together.

Clint thrust his leg out, but Tony was already by the end of the bed ready to grab them. He forgot his own weakness and swiftly gave over the position to Steve. Tony leaned back and sighed.

"Clint, stop trying to bite, and stop trying to kick. If you remove Strange's finger, I doubt he'd grow it back."

Dr. Strange smirked at Bruce.

"Never mind. Apparently he can, so go ahead and bite it off."

"Get off me!" Clint screamed.

"Don't let up yet, he's not quite there." Bruce instructed. "Easy now, Clint. You've just had a stroke and we can't let you—"

Clint broke his wrist free from Strange and threw his elbow back at Bruce. The doctor ducked and Quill lunged forward to grab it.

"I think we should roll him, Bruce. He's breathing all right." Castillo said.

Bruce leaned down and hit the bed toggle. The top began to lean up, lifting Clint's head and chest. At the same time the teams on either side of him rolled the archer onto his back. Clint's eyes were open and darted around though he perceived nothing.

"Take a minute to get your bearings. Relax and breathe."

"Where am I?!" Clint groaned.

"You're in a hospital. Dr. Strange is on your left beside Dr. Castillo and I'm here on your right. I'm putting my hand in your right hand. I want you to squeeze back. I'm sorry that we're going to ask a lot from you, but this is really important. Squeeze my hand, Clint."

"Your voice is weird." Clint said.

That was a strange reaction to have, Bruce thought. Clint's hearing came from his auricular implant. Unless his hearing-aid like transmitters had been damaged his hearing shouldn't have been altered. Clint did squeeze his hand, though.

"Ok, good. I want you to move your right foot. This leg I'm touching. Can you feel me touching you here?"

"Yeah."

"Move your leg."

Clint opened his eyes again. "You sound just . . . strange."

"We'll sort that out. Move your leg."

Clint moved his leg.

"Good job. I need you to think about this side now." Bruce moved his hand to Clint's left leg. The blood clot had forced a considerable amount of the brain that controlled his left half to die. There was no telling how much the Sarhorn corrected.

Around them, the other Avengers wanted desperately to crowd around. Each one fought their own internal demons about Clint's own survival. They had such a short amount of time before Galactus came to prepare and prevent the inevitable battle that may take Barton away from them. They wanted to tell Barton everything that happened, they wanted to pull the archer into their arms and never let him go again. But for the sake of his health, the Avengers waited for the doctors to clear him.

"Move what I'm touching." Bruce repeated, squeezing Clint's knee.

"You shouldn't sound weird. I don't get that. That doesn't make any sense. Bruce, stop, that's hurting now." Clint pulled his leg away from Bruce's hand.

Everyone attempted, and failed, to hide their utter relief.

"Mr. Stark, would you mind tinkering with his receivers?" Dr. Castillo asked while Bruce moved onto Clint's left hand. Again the archer responded to his touch appropriately.

Tony lifted his palm. "Yeah, someone hand them to me. I can't get up. I think I'm in shock."

Dr. Strange switched his efforts from assisting Clint to checking out Stark instead. He extracted a penlight from his shirt pocket and flashed it over Iron Man's face. "You are pale and covered in scribbles. And you are sitting equally on both hips leading me to believe something has transpired with the leg you should have no sensation in. If I were to test your superficial pain reflexes, would you feel it?"

"Don't do that, and yes." Tony affirmed.

"Tony, you can feel your leg?" Clint groggily asked from the bed.

"I can and you aren't dead either." Tony pointed out.

Castillo gently turned Clint's head to either side and managed to remove his small auricular transmitters. Careful not to lose them on the bedspread, she handed them over to Tony. Thor hit one of the light switches, giving Tony a better look at what might have damaged the devices.

"I believe you should lie down." Dr. Strange told him.

"Yeah, I think I should too." Tony affirmed without reservation. He glanced at Bruce. "Natasha photograph those scrawls on you yet?"

Natasha responded for him by shaking her camera phone, indicating that she had. "You have terrible hand writing."

Clint sat up a little and looked around. Bruce tapped his arm twice, indicating in their private language that everything was all right.

"No, it's not." Clint said, then stopped himself. "No." he said again.

"You need to take a breather," Castillo tried to warn him, but forgot he couldn't hear. She motioned to Tony so he might return one of the devices.

"No." Clint said again. He looked over the friends, his eyes never settling on just one. When they found Bruce, he locked eyes with the doctor.

"I can see you." Barton said, flabbergasted.

Bruce's relief was unable to be measured. Excitedly he started to sign, speaking at the same time so Clint could read his lips. "We don't understand quite what happened to you yet. We met with the Sarhorn—"

Clint reached out and stilled Bruce's hands with his own. With wide-eyed amazement, he said. "Bruce . . . Bruce I can hear you. You sound strange. I shouldn't be ABLE to hear you, but I can. I can hear myself talk."

The news caused Bruce to stumble in place. Even Tony got out of his chair to sway at the end of Clint's bed.

"What?!" Natasha exclaimed. She pushed Castillo aside to be next to him. "Clint, is that right? Can you hear me? Can you hear us? His receivers are out, aren't they?"

Tony held them up in his hand, even dropped them on top of the sheet. Physiologically speaking, Clint had been deaf for almost fifteen years. He worked so seamlessly with his auricular devices that most people who met him had no idea he was deaf.

"Is that how your voice really sounds like? I thought I knew, or remembered, is that how your voice really sounds?"

Natasha pressed her forehead against his and tried desperately to keep herself together. Clint was the only man in her life who had the ability to completely unmake her. Parts of her always loved that, and hated it about him. A personality like the archer could not inspire a single overwhelming emotion. It had to be a tumultuous knotted ball all wound up like rubber bands.

Clint reached his hand behind her neck and guided her lower to his lips. They kissed, perhaps not as passionately as he would have liked despite the present company, and she pulled away.

Clint looked down at Tony. "You look like crap."

Tony smiled, failing to hold in his overwhelming relief. "You're looking better."

"And I think you musta finagled your voice in my ear. I thought before you sounded like George Clooney. Now it's kinda like Micky Mouse."

Tony snickered. He leaned down and patted the leg Barton could now feel with the arm Tony himself had returned function of and sat back down.

"Quill? What are you doing here? You hate it here!" Clint asked, surprised. He held out his hand, an invitation, and Peter took it instantly. Understanding the ritualistic behavior in the Guardian, the Avengers didn't seem to mind it.

"I blame you, you big tumor-filled idiot. Stop irradiating yourself. I think you might need to make some lead underwear. Hey, are the fish still swimming?" Quill snickered back.

"My fish are none of your concern." Clint replied. He noticed Bruce again. "Stop giving me that long face, doc."

"You gave me this long face. And all my grey hair. And every wrinkle I'm growing into." Bruce told him affectionately.

"Forget your grey hair, look at Thor. I think he might turn out like Odin if he stands in my hospital room one more time." Clint beaconed Thor over with his free hand. He embraced the Asgardian, then T'Challa and clasped hands with Pym. He smiled up at Parker who had yet to come down from the wall.

"Ok, well, this was nice. But am I allowed to freak out now?" Clint asked Bruce.

"Not yet. First you've won yourself another brain scan. Dr. Strange brought over my program from the Tower. Say goodbye to everyone. We might be a little while."

Clint chuckled and shook his head. For the first time in a very long time the motion failed to make him dizzy. He didn't know what happened to him when he passed out at the Mansion and woke up in the hospital room, but obviously it was major. "What am I? Four? I don't do goodbye. Wheel me out, docs, before someone starts crying or something. Quill, gimme back my hand. Stop giving me that look, I'm not gonna die in the next three minutes. Come on, Strange, rush me out of this joint so I can bust loose. Quill, where's the rest of your gang?"

Peter took his hand back, grateful no one had yet to jump on him about the strange behavior. He hiked a thumb upward. "Runnin' out of fuel on the roof. We were supposed to leave you here and head out after the Sarhorns."

Castillo and Bruce set to moving Clint into a wheel chair. They disconnected machines, set things aside, stopped his fluid lines, occasionally alarms would ring out and the Avengers found themselves talking over the noise. Strange took the back of Tony's chair and dragged it across the floor and out of the way with the billionaire still sitting in it.

"Next fuel station isn't till Vega. You're gonna get stranded." Clint said.

"I'll put some vodka in the tank." Peter replied. "Actually I bet you a hundred units Rocket's out there siphoning the Fallen Kree ship."

Steve sent his hand into Star-Lord's chest a little too hard. Unprepared for the blow, Peter folded forward with a rush of exhaled air. As quick as Steve hit him, he apologized over the force of it.

"Geez, Spangly, what I say?!" Peter exclaimed, holding his belly in both hands.

"Fallen Kree?" Clint asked. Thor came over to help pick him up and force him into the wheel chair. Typically the archer would shove the chair away and end upstanding on his own. It was then he noticed someone had brought by his old SHIELD bow. "Where'd this thing come from? I gave it to Kate."

"Don't worry about that." Hank said.

Clint spun to look at him. "What are the Fallen Kree doing here, Pym?"

"Pretty sure they followed The king of the dwarves." Quill said.

Four Avengers shushed him all at once, Castillo even picked up an empty fluid bag and threw it across the room at him.

"WHAT?!" Quill exclaimed. "There's like a thousand aliens outside. It's kinda hard to make that go away!"

Bruce attempted to roll Clint forward and out of the onslaught of curiosity surely about to fall, but Clint slammed his hands down on the wheels and locked them in place. Castillo warned him about getting excited, the mobile heart monitor began beeping even faster, and Steve was three seconds from picking up Peter Quill and throwing him out a window.

"What. Is. Going. On." Clint fiercely demanded. He looked around, waiting for someone to start talking.

Bruce shot a death glare at Star-Lord. One that clearly read that if the half alien planned to keep his tongue for the rest of his life, he better stop speaking now.

But Peter Quill wasn't very good at subtleties. He shrugged the look off and said plainly, "Uh, you're gonna die in a pit of animals that are gonna tear you apart unless we stop Galactus and the Infinity War from taking place."

"Pete!" "STAR-LORD!" "Quill, you are a jack—" "Peter Quill!"

Every Avengers growled and grumbled in their own way as Clint took the news in. Behind him Dr. Castillo simply shook her head.

"Ok," she said, "This is why hospital policy says team members only. Star-Lord, get out of my room!"

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><p><strong><em>Next Time: its the final chapter! The Epilogue!<em>**

done forget to hit that review button!


	9. Epilogue

**A/N:** Wow. the Last chapter... we've come so far! A special thanks again to icanhearthedrums and JRBarton for being my editing marvels. without you, i would still fail every time i typed the word "edit". this next book will be dedicated to them.

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><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

Clint stood with his toes along the invisible line that led from the center of the farthest outdoor target to the sight on his bow. He held the riser to the weapon in his left hand and with the leather finger tab on his right hand. He set his arrow against the string. A familiar _twang_ resounded when the nock snapped into place against the nocking point of the tightly spun horse-hair.

"I am so excited!" Katie exclaimed, standing just behind the firing line.

Tony snickered beside her. He'd moved an entire portable desk outside to continue his quantum theory work while Clint satisfied his need to catch up on his distance shooting. He'd already begun the schematics on the Galactus containment unit while, beside him, Bruce fussed with different metal thickness varieties for the heat shield housing.

"I, too, look forward to this with great interest!" Thor exclaimed.

"You haven't seriously fired that bow in twelve years, Clint. You think you're up to moving back to the big times?" Hank Pym asked. He grabbed the 3D rendering that Tony sent to his digital pad and expanded the image into an in depth system he could more easily manipulate. With the blue and white image floating over his palm, he waltzed over the stand beside Thor and Kate.

"I think I've been wanting to fire this thing without tearing my shoulder out since a Southling took me down on Alfheimr." Clint replied. He glared at the 2000 meter target.

"The only way to know whether you can, is to try." T'Challa said. He too made an appearance for the momentous occasion.

After every body scan, invasive test, and even a laparoscopy of multiple locations in Clint's body, the doctors finally gave him the news he had never expected to hear. He was healed. Not just from the tumor robbing his sight, or the stomach cancer that crippled him in pain, but also the years old fractured shoulder which never healed well enough to let him use his famous gift from Odin, the Sleiphnir bow. Tony also, after taking a thirty-six hour nap, woke to find himself still fully functional. He even walked normally again, something that felt so strange after years of walking with a limp. The shooting pain he'd suffered through from the inoperable chip fractures in his spine also vanished instantaneously. The return of his faculties made working on the Galactus prison all that more efficient.

"Is it weird that I'm nervous?" Clint asked. "Next time, I'm not telling Bill that I'm doing this. If I knew you were going to make a party out of it, I might have just stayed home."

Bill smiled from where he reclined on the grass. The resident dog, Lucky, laid under the sunshine and rolled around on his back. He moaned and kicked his legs up into the air enjoying the warmth of a coming summer. Spring had finally let up its consistent rain showers to give them a dry afternoon. Clint felt bad for the dog. He'd been cooped up inside for much of the winter. The last few months of the archer coming and going all the time weren't easy on him, either but the feeling was mutual. Lucky used to live in Barton's house back when his wife was still alive. She called him Pepper but Clint already had one of those in his life and changed the name. When she died shortly after the first attack from Galactus, Clint stayed off world for a while. Bill helped out by keeping Lucky at the archery range where the visitors doted on him. The dog fit in so nicely it was hard to take him back home. The pain was still a little too fresh for Clint to imagine Lucky in his house without Marie there.

"I thought you always wanted to say_ "Avengers Assemble"_ and have us all show up at Clint's Place." Steve said. He unscrewed the cap on his beer and chinked glasses with the chuckling Logan. The X-Man had pulled a third beer from the cooler and passed it to Peter Quill. Quill palmed the pop cap as if he could yank it off as easily as Captain America. The others did nothing to help, watching him struggle was simply too much fun.

"It's not called "Clint's Place" it's a shooting range not a bar." Clint replied. He hadn't even raised the string against his chin yet.

"We drink here often enough, coulda fooled me, bub." Logan replied. Using one claw he popped off his own lid. Quill shook his beer at him but Wolverine was in no mood to help.

"Stop stalling and shoot the dang bow already!" Rocket exclaimed. "Geez, we're goin' to be drunk by the time you actually do something."

Clint lifted the riser of his bow again. "You know what, Rocket? Next Fight Night I think it's going to be you and me."

"Ho, ho! Bring it on, purple pants! I'll chew you like a chicken bone."

"I am Groot." The massive tree added with a nod. Natasha, who was laying beneath one of the trees arms, enjoying the shade he literally grew for her, smiled.

"That's right, big guy. I think Clint can take him as long as he has his rabies shots."

"Hey! Whose side are you on!" Rocket complained to his friend.

"This tree has many sides. You are on his left." Drax added. He lifted his drink of Asgardian-brand ale to Thor who repeated the gesture before they both took a swig.

Clint lowered his bow again. "Come on, seriously! I can't even think with the thirty of you just sitting there, getting drunk, and watching me."

"Clint?"

"WHAT?" Barton shouted, looking over at Tony.

Stark held in every single emotion that so desperately wanted to be released as he said, "You know, performance anxiety is normal in twenty percent of all men at your age."

Kate blushed and snickered into her hand. The rest of the teams were much less discreet about their laughter and openly guffawed on the lawn.

Clint leveled a finger in Stark's direction. "Hey, you want your broken neck back?"

"Shoot the target, Clint. Stop being a baby."

"I am NOT! Mind your own Galactus work." Clint lifted the bow again. He took a deep breath. He started like he did decades ago when he first learned to start shooting. First he began high, the sight pointed into the white mounds of spring clouds, then as he lowered the bow to bring the target into view, Clint drew back on the string and pushed the riser away from him. His brain prepared his body for the stab of pain to cut through him. His SHIELD bow had a draw strength of 200lbs. The Asgardian bow surpassed that by another fifty at the least. It was almost impossible to know exactly how much the strength was as the only person who could use the bow was Clint himself.

The pain he'd lived with for so long didn't return. Pulling back the string was difficult, but not impossible. His hands didn't shake, his arm remained steady, and the target lined up perfectly with his sight right when the bow dropped. Clint let his fingers slip along the bowstring, releasing his black carbon arrow. The arrow sailed across the archery grounds and slammed into an invisible wall sitting between the target and Clint.

Barton dropped his bow and shot a death look at Rocket. "Where did I tell you to park?! **The parking lot**! My archery range is NOT your invisible ship parking platform!"

Rocket fell sideways, laughing hysterically. "Oh my God, your face! Your face was just too good! I couldn't help it, I just had to do it."

Clint's eyes narrowed. He felt around in his quiver for the certain set of hash marks along the shafts of his exploding arrow tips. Before Rocket could see what arrow he'd chosen, he set it on his string, pulled back, and launched it into the side of Peter Quill's cloaked ship. The automated shield prevented any real damage from occurring, but the cloaking device took a considerable hit and fizzled out.

"Awe, my Milano!" Quill exclaimed, still fighting with the top of his beer. 'That's the last time I let you fly, Rocket!"

Clint turned, put a third arrow to his string, and fired it at Star-Lord. With a snap, the lid to his beer popped off, the arrow rebounded off Steve's shield, hit the corner of Tony's desk, then the bottom of Pym's datapad before sailing across the field and stopping between Rocket's legs.

"Hey! Watch out for my dangly bits, jack!" Rocket exclaimed.

Barton grinned. "Didn't any vets neuter you yet?"

"No but I heard that you got a good recommendation."

The team of men and women laughed. Groot offered only his famous catch phrase, and the afternoon began to look even brighter. Clint could fire his favorite bow again without the pain that had dogged him for so many years. He could even see again and, as far as he knew, he wasn't still at risk of dying. Except, of course, that overwhelming weight of what their future held.

"Seven years till Galactus comes to our front door. We've got that much time to get ready for it. That means you—" he pointed to Kate as he picked up his SHIELD bow. "Need to take over being Hawkeye. The Avengers, me included, are going to be working off world for a considerable amount of time. So I need to leave someone here to carry the name when I'm not around."

Giddly she bobbed up and down and grabbed the bow from him again. "Are you really serious?" She looked over at Captain America. "I get to be an Avenger?!"

"In-training." Peter Parker, the first ever inducted Avenger-in-training told her. He extracted her new ID card from his pocket and handed it over.

Steve said, "When we aren't around. Pym's protégé, Scott Lang, will be your fellow trainee. We have a host of names we're sorting through to add to those. In essence we'll be running two teams. One, the veterans, and two, the new guys. We have to take this transition carefully. Our name, the name of the Avengers, means something in not only this world but many others. We can never take that for granted. Understood?"

Kate continued to hold the bow and nodded. "Yeah! Yeah of course!"

"We're going to have one veteran available at all times. Until we can be sure you won't go off and do something immature together, we're keeping you on a short leash. But listen, Kate. The storm that's coming is going to take everything this universe has to stop. It isn't like the days we went against Thanos, or the Kree Uprising, or the League of the Dark Empires. Even Galactus' first coming left three systems dead just in the war itself. Millions more died in the viral spread afterward." Steve cut a glance toward Clint who shifted and looked away. Clint's wife and daughter both died in that unexpected aftermath. "The Avengers need people we can trust to watch out for the planet while we are battling for our very survival."

A small bit of her excitement gave way to that penetrating stare of Captain Rogers. "Yes, sir." She said with resolution.

"All right Steve, get up here." Clint said, trying to loosen the tension and forget the family he once had and since lost. He picked up the third bow he'd brought to the range with him. He'd commissioned the creation from the Bruce/Tony sweatshop. It had been designed specifically to fit Steve's posture, build, and strength. Beside the Asgardian bow, which he couldn't use, there was no other modern tool which could withstand his super strength. Until now.

Steve planted his drink in the grass and stood. He brushed his pants off with one hand, approached the firing line, and placed his feet where Clint directed him to be. He'd already looked through the equipment and knew how to hold the bow, but little else beyond that.

"You're so concerned with me jumping to my death that you want me to train you, so here is lesson one. We're going to just learn the basics today, how to stand, lock the arrow to the string, and line up a shot. I want you to keep on pulling that bow back until your arms are sore." Clint turned around and faced Katie. "You are going to switch hands and start using your left. If you want to be like me, then you need to be ambidextrous with a bow that isn't. So basically you're starting at ground zero again. But this way you and Steve can face each other while standing on the firing line. Being me also means being able to teach. So teach."

Katie seemed a little crestfallen that Clint wasn't teaching her his reverse back-flip trick arrow technique, but did as he instructed anyway. Steve and she stood chest to chest, faced the sizzling cloaking device of Quill's ship, and pulled their bows back in tandem. They started high, dropped low, lined up a shot with either a lug nut or window on the Milano, and started all over again.

Clint made a few corrections to their posture as he watched but when they seemed to get the flow of it, he retreated to the grass picnic with all the others. Taking Steve's left over beer, he sipped some and set it back down.

This training was as good for him as it was for the rest of the Avengers. It helped him to teach, to get back to his own roots and work from the bottom up. The Sarhorn's warning would stay with them for a long time to come. The Avengers, the universe, had been warned to prepare and by God they would not fail in that task. Though this particular afternoon had the feel of a Sunday brunch, the true weight of their gathering surely didn't go unfelt. Tonight was Fight Night again. Two hundred souls planned to attend, and not just to observe. There were no more scheduled matches, no more bets, parties, or charades. The work they did now was as serious as a heart attack . . . or a brain tumor. Everyone gathered to better themselves in ways they could once never imagine. This would be their lives until Galactus faced his defeat.

The news spread like a forest fire. Heroes and villains alike cast down petty disputes to either live for the day or train for tomorrow. Steve said it best. A storm was coming. Only this storm was the size of a black hole with the same force behind it as two colliding super novas.

Clint watched Steve do his best to work up a sweat. It wasn't an easy task, but he did try. In his heart Clint wondered whether or not the pit where he'd meet his horrifying death even existed. He wondered too if all this training Steve did would be enough to convince anyone he was more suited to enter the darkness than Clint. Whether Clint told him or not, he'd already decided the answer was no. Steve could be great. As skilled as Clint even, but there was a difference to them that could never be pacified. Clint may have had more notoriety in the galaxies than Thor, and more people at his hospital bedside than any other Avenger in history, but that still didn't mean he was the most valuable member of the team. Steve was their commander and chief. To stop an army, what does one do? Take out its general. Unless Steve gave up his leadership, Clint would always choose to enter that pit over the Captain.

For now and the next seven years Clint might let this little façade play out, but he always knew the truth. Maybe Steve did too. He just had to accept the extra time he'd been gifted with and spend it doing the things he loved and protecting the ones he cared over most. With that thought on his mind, he shifted out of his position beside Logan and instead went to share Groot's shade with Natasha.

She grinned, lacing her fingers into his. "This is always how it ends, isn't it? You and me together?" she asked.

"Something like that." He told her.

"I am Groot." The tree man said.

Natasha leaned into him, her eyes watching Steve and Katie pulling their bowstrings back, raising their risers, lining up another shot, and letting the string slide forward.

"Yes." Clint said.

Natasha sighed. "I didn't ask you anything."

"I know what you're thinking though, and yes."

She pushed herself up and looked at him. "What am I thinking?"

"That I am in fact the hottest guy here and if you had the opportunity to pick someone else you'd most likely be celibate than end up with someone other than me." He told her.

She laughed and rolled her back onto his chest. In fact, she'd been thinking much along the same as the archer privately had. She could see through this game he put on for everyone. Planning that Steve, should the time arise, would take the sacrifice hit to save everyone. But she knew the truth of his heart as much as Clint did. That changed some of her perspective on him. Before, such a finite span of time never hovered over their heads. Very likely, in seven years he might be ripped out of her hands forever. That affected her deeply.

He deserved better than that kind of ending, and he deserved more than her. Clint needed a family like Tony needed his suits or Thor his hammer. Natasha couldn't give him that. After all the experimentation the Red Room had done to her, she never could bear children. So when she left him for Steve and Clint himself moved on and attained that family he so desperately wanted, she was actually happy for him. His wife was witty and normal. His little girl had his eyes and her hands with the biggest ears Natasha had ever seen on a baby, not that she had been around many. And then his family was ripped away from him during the fallout of the Galactus War which nearly destroyed him.

She had to end it, she thought. Undoubtedly in their future Clint might compare what they had now to what he lost then. This wasn't fair to him. It was never fair to him. Stay or go? Stay and keep him from finding love again before he died at Galactus' hand? Or go and watch him potentially find another family only to watch it fall apart?

"_You'd rather be celibate than end up with someone other than me."_

"Yeah . . ." she said, nestling against him and the cool air rustled across the field. "That's exactly what I was thinking."

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><p><strong><em>this story may be over, but this is what I have in the pipeline!: <em>**

**_I Can Hear The Drums:_** _The day the Sarhorn warns of is coming and the every world is getting ready for it. But not all the preparation is helpful. While Tony oversees the creation of an armada on Vanaheim, a realm whose world will provide one month of work for every Earth day, Clint, Natasha, and Steve are shuffling through the heroes who have been chosen to go to war, and those left behind. Then, war begins. Before Galactus can even arrive, the Kree empire, fearing the armaments of so many enemies bands to the Chitauri force and attack the forming armada. Can diplomacy be reached? or will the flagships be destroyed before they can ever be used to stop the Universe eater from coming? Still more drama . . . Peter Quill and his team must race across the galaxy to find, and hide, the Infinity Gauntlet before the heralds of Galactus can. Will they be successful? Still more . . . Loki's return, the arming of Alfheimr, the possibility of global pestilance, wars rocking Earth from those terrified of being left defenseless, Frost Giants fighting beside Asgardians, Fallen Kree facing their alien bretheren, and finally the climax of it all: Clint's sacrifice. Will he jump to his death? Can Steve stop him? What choice will the Avengers make in the heat of the moment that will change their lives, literally, forever?_

_So stay tuned for updates folks and check me out on facebook! It may be a while before this thing gets posted cause, I mean seriously, just read that all again._

Please review! Liked it? Hated it? Anticipations?


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